"Yes, but worse was in store for me. Because I demanded an apology for their nonsense, I was beaten."
"Beaten? Dear me! Beaten with a stick? Gracious heavens! Very extraordinary! I must make a note of that. And what would you like me to do?"
"Why, what do you usually do when a British subject is stripped and beaten by a lot of dirty Dagoes?"
"I do not remember such an occurrence; so I have no precedent for dealing with this case. British subjects do not usually expose themselves, you see, to such odd adventures."
"Do understand that it is serious, sir," pursued Norman, whose fury had been gradually mounting in face of this official apathy. "What's the good of being an Englishman if one can't travel unmolested? What's the good of all those Dreadnoughts? What are they wasting coal in the North Sea for? Why don't they come here?"
"I must remind you," said the Consul, severely, "that you have no passport. I cannot possibly send for the Fleet if you have no passport. For all I know you might be Siamese."
"Do I look it?" cried Norman, in dismay.
"Perhaps there are light-haired Siamese mountaineers who have learnt English from Indian friends. 'Quien Sabe?' as we said at Barcelona."
"It is a shame, sir—you are fooling me!" Norman's temper had quite gone.
"Have you only just found that out?" said the Consul, his eyes twinkling.