“Oh, you may excuse him if you will. I won’t do it. I understand him better than you do.”
“I don’t feel like disputing you,” said Bernard gravely, “but I know him well, and I am sure he would not leave me in the lurch.”
They tossed about on their beds and neither one slept. They woke and rose unrefreshed.
Breakfast was brought them, but neither could eat a mouthful.
“I can’t eat anything. It would choke me,” said Sanderson.
“Walter Cunningham may come yet,” said Bernard, but his hope was very faint.
“Then he had better hurry, that’s all I have got to say. I wish I could communicate with the American minister. Our government should send over a fleet of war vessels and blow Naples sky high.”
“You must remember that these men are outlaws—that it is their work, and not the work of the government.”
“Then the government should suppress them. I wish,” Amos Sanderson continued, with a groan, “that I had never set foot in this forsaken country. I should have stood a better chance in a savage land.”
“The signor is not hungry?” said the bandit who had brought in the breakfast. He spoke in Italian, but Bernard understood.