With that, Jordan wrenched Cassidy away and flung him heavily against one of the veranda posts.
The stranger, scowling and nursing a bruise on his chin, was gathering up his blue cap. Cassidy, panting and wheezing, was leaning against the post and glaring wrathfully at the consul.
“That man,” said Bob, pointing toward the mate, “is Cassidy, second in command aboard the submarine. He takes it hard because Captain Nemo, junior, placed me in charge, and he came ashore without authority. Who the other fellow is, I don’t know; but I presume he is some trouble maker the mate picked up.”
“Trouble maker is right,” went on Jordan. “That describes the rascal exactly. I know him. He’s Fingal, master of a shady schooner called the North Star, an all-around bad one, and the authorities in a dozen ports in Central America will tell you the same. We’ll land him in the lockup. And as for Cassidy, it’s against regulations for an officer to attack one who outranks him. We’ll put him in the cooler, too.”
The consul was about to call some one from the house with the intention of sending for an officer, when Bob interposed.
“I don’t want to do anything like that, Jordan. These men have been drinking.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“But Cassidy, when he’s not half-seas over and got a fancied grievance, is a good fellow. He has proved that to me a hundred times. Besides, Captain Nemo, junior, thinks a lot of him.”
“Well, he can’t think much of the captain,” answered the consul dryly, “or he’d pay more attention to his orders. What do you want to do with the two men?”
“Let Fingal go about his business, if he has any. As for Cassidy, he can go back to the submarine and give his brain a chance to clear. After that he’ll see things differently.”