"I can't stay here if you talk nonsense."
"Mein Gott! Vhat more sense can a man haf dthan to loaf you?"
"Oh, see the porpoises!" I say abruptly. The great clumsy fish are floundering about us in schools.
"Vhat heafen eyes you haf, Señorita!"
"I do believe that's 'San José Joe.'" I run to the rail. "You know! the huge old shark all covered with barnacles the seamen tell about."
"You vill nefer listen," says the Peruvian, plunging his hands far down in his yachtsman's jacket. "I dthink, Señorita, ven you die, and St. Peter meet you at dthe gate and say, 'You haf lif gude life, come into Heaven'—you vill fery like look over your shoulder and say, 'Oh, Peter! vhere go all dthose nice leedle devils?'"
The Peruvian's last shot certainly diverts me from all finny creatures, and we sit down on a pile of lumber, and the Baron shows me his rings and seals—tells me where each came from and the story attached. He finally pulls out of his pocket a rosary. "I haf carry dthis efer since I was in Egypt."
This simple little string of olive stones and carved ebony beads quite captivates my fancy, and the penalty for the expression of my liking is that I must try it on. He winds it about my wrist and, having forced open one of the silver links, he bends down and with those sharp, white teeth bites the open link close again—the blond moustache sweeps my wrist and the rosary is securely fastened.
"Now," I say, "see what you've done! How will you get it off?"
"It comes not off till you are zomething less dthan my friend or zomething more."