“And by the way, Kemp,” he said, with sudden annoyance, recollecting himself, as it were, “you never turned up for that dinner—sent no word, nor anything....”
Williams had been talking to me, but it was with Sebright that I felt myself growing intimate. The young mate of the “Lion” stood by, very quiet, listening with a capable smile. Now he said, in a tone of dry comment:
“Jolly sight more useful turning up here.”
“I was kidnapped away from Ramon’s back shop, if that’s a sufficient apology. It’s rather a long story.”
“Well, you can’t tell it on deck, that’s very clear,” Sebright had to shout to me. “Not while this infernal noise—what the deuce’s up? It sounds more like a dog-fight than anything else.”
As we ran towards the main hatch I recognized the aptness of the comparison. It was that sort of vicious, snarling, yelping clamour which arises all at once and suddenly dies.
“Castro! Thou Castro!”
“Malediction... My eyelids...”
“Thou! Englishman’s dog!”
“Ha! Porco.”