Admiral Congosto was a pompous Spaniard, obese, with bristling brows and moustaches, who wrinkled his forehead and winked his eyes constantly.
"So," he said, with unctuous dignity, as Dan met him at the rail, "the Capitan?"
"Yes; the Capitan," and Dan bowed courteously.
"You are for San Blanco with supplies?—and—and—ah!" The Admiral completed his sentence with a significant shrug of the shoulder. Dan was equally cautious.
"We were putting in for water, for fresh water," he said. "Our condenser's filled with bread crumbs or something, and we can't make enough for our boilers, let alone drinking."
With an ample shrug of his shoulders, the Spaniard suggested that the Captain might obtain all the water he wished if he would go in, leaving his cargo outside. And then, as though weary of the subject, he turned to more congenial topics. He thirsted for good wine; that fact was early elucidated, after which he rambled along indefinitely, allowing Dan to gather that all the officers of the fleet were also thirsting for wine. At last he came straight to the point.
"A case—a dozen bottles—it would suffice—it would be appreciated—ah!"
Dan had an idea, and began to build upon it forthwith.
"Admiral," he said, "there is much of what you seek aboard. As you well know, Señor Howland never travels with empty lockers—there is much of a certain wine that sparkles—see?"
"I see, but I do not hear what I mean," replied the perplexed Admiral, indulging nevertheless in anticipatory internal gratulations.