Arlington braced up and stared at the newcomer.
“Who invited you?” he demanded.
“I beg da pard, Mist’ Arlington,” said the Italian, respectfully touching his cap. “I t’ink I better tella you. Nobod’ on da yacht. I t’ink you better know. Mebbe your mother no lika it.”
“What’s that to you, you dago dog!” snarled Chet. “You pay attention to your own business!”
Instantly the dark face of the Italian grew darker and his black eyes glittered.
“Tony no dago doga!” he hissed. “He no gita drunk! He minda his bis’!”
“What’s that?” growled Chet, pushing back from the table.
“Your sist’ very fina girl,” asserted the Italian. “You maka her feel very bada. You ought to be ashameda.”
Somehow Arlington managed to throw off, for a moment, the effects of the liquor, and he rose quickly to his feet, taking a single step. Evidently Tony was unprepared for what happened, for he fancied Chester was too intoxicated to do anything of the sort. At any rate, he could not avoid Arlington’s blow, which made him stagger.
“You cur!” snarled the enraged youth. “Don’t dare speak of my sister! Don’t dare refer to her!”