“Well, let’s have it.”
Fitz was silent, and more full of bitter regret that he had spoken.
“I say, you are a precious long time about it.”
“Well, I don’t know,” stammered Fitz. “I don’t think I ought to; perhaps it wouldn’t be a good one, after all.”
“Well, you are a rum fellow, Burnett! I began to believe in you, and you quite made my mouth water, while now you snatch the idea away. What’s the matter?”
Fitz cleared his throat, and pulled himself together.
“Well,” he said; “you see, it’s like this. I’ve no business as your prisoner to take part with you against a State which is recognised by the British Government, and to which your father has surreptitiously been bringing arms and ammunition that are contraband of war.”
“Phee-ew!” whistled Poole, grinning. “What big words! What a splendid speech!”
“Look here, if you are beginning to banter,” replied Fitz hotly, “I’m off.”
“Yes, you’ve just let yourself off—bang. We had got to be such friends that I thought you had dropped all that and were going to make the best of things. You know well enough that Villarayo was a bully and a brute, a regular tyrant, and that Don Ramon is a grand fellow and a regular patriot, fighting for his country and for everything that is good.”