“No, he did not,” said Courtenay, with all the seriousness imaginable; “he never said a word to me about it. Did he mention it to you?” with a glance across the table at me.
“Not a word,” said I. “I suppose he forgot it in his hurry. You must understand,” I continued, turning to the unknown one, “that so far as we are concerned, this business has been arranged in the most hurried manner, and we must look to you for enlightenment upon any points which the captain-general may have omitted to explain to us.”
“Oh, yes! assuredly, señors, assuredly,” was the satisfactory reply. “It is part of my bargain, you know.”
“Quite so,” chimed in Courtenay. “And if, as my friend and I talk the matter over, we happen to come to something which is not altogether clear, we will not fail to apply to you. By the by, do you happen to have such a thing as a decent cigar on board this smart little felucca of yours?”
Our interlocutor glanced from one to the other of us with a merry twinkle in his eye, as though Courtenay’s innocent inquiry veiled the best joke he had heard for a long time.
“A decent cigar!” said he. “Ha! ha! if I have not, then I don’t know where else you should look for one, gentlemen. Allow me.” And, pushing past me to the after part of the locker, he raised a lid and produced a box of weeds which he laid upon the table. Then, with an awkward bow, he said, as he made for the companion-ladder:
“If you have finished breakfast, gentlemen, I will send Francisco down to clear the table.”