“Captain,” answered the Señor Strickland, “if my friend is an Indian, he is as good a gentleman as you or anybody else in this cabin; moreover he has paid for a first-class fare and has a right to first-class accommodation. I insist upon a seat being provided for him at my side.”
“As you wish,” answered the captain, smiling, for he was a man of peace, “only if he comes there will be trouble.” And he ordered the steward to fetch me.
Now this steward was an Indian who knew my rank. Therefore not wishing to offend me by repeating what had passed, he said simply that the captain sent his compliments and begged that I would come down to dinner. The end of it was that I went, though doubtfully, and, seeing me in the doorway the Señor Strickland called to me in a loud voice, saying:
“You are late for dinner, friend, but I have kept your place here by me. Sit down quickly or the food will be cold.”
I bowed to the company and obeyed, and then the trouble commenced, for all present had heard this talk. As I took my seat the Mexicans began to murmur, and the passenger who was next to me insolently moved his plate and glass away. Now almost opposite to me sat Don José Moreno, that man of whom Molas had told me. As I took my seat he consulted hastily with a neighbour on his right, then, addressing the captain, said in a loud voice:
“There is some mistake; it is not usual that Indian dogs should sit at the same table with gentlemen.”
The captain shrugged his shoulders and answered mildly:
“Perhaps the señor will settle the question with the English señor on my left. To me it does not matter; I am only a poor sailor, and accustomed to every sort of company.”
“Señor Strickland,” said Don José, “be so good as to order your servant to leave the cabin.”
“Señor,” he answered, for his temper was quick, “I will see you in hell before I do so.”