"Let me hear you read the words over again," Dave begged.
Dan did so, his comrade's smile deepening.
"Dan," said Dave dryly, "you speak Italian as though it were French. Italian is too delicate a language for that treatment."
"But what am I to do about this chicken?" Danny Grin persisted.
"Eat it," suggested Darrin, "and use some of your time ashore in getting closer to the Italian language."
Dave was served with just what he had ordered for a pleasing meal—an omelet, spaghetti and Neapolitan tomatoes, with dessert to follow.
"I'm no great admirer of chicken, and I did want ham," sighed Dan, as he glanced enviously at his chum's dainty food. Nevertheless Ensign Dalzell ate his meal with an air of resignation that greatly amused Dave Darrin.
The restaurant was one of the largest and handsomest to be found along that great thoroughfare of Naples, the Riviera di Chiaja. The place would seat perhaps four hundred guests. At this hour of the day there were about half that number of persons present, many of whom were Americans.
The chums had succeeded in obtaining a small table by themselves, close to an open window that overlooked the sidewalk.
Watching the throngs that passed, both on foot and in carriages of many types, the young naval officers felt certain that at no other point could they obtain as good a general view of the city of Naples. Many well-to-do Italians were afoot, having sold their carriages and automobiles in order to buy the war bonds of their country. As there were several Italian warships in port, sailors from these craft were ashore and mingling with the throng. Soldiers home on sick leave from the Austrian frontier were to be seen. Other men, who looked like mere lads, wore new army uniforms proudly. These latter were the present year's recruits, lately called to the colors and drilling for the work that lay ahead of them, work in deadly earnest against hated Austria.