"Never mind, sir," said Hart encouragingly. "I've 'ad many a row with a Frenchy, and I never knowed my 'avin' not the least notion of what 'e meant ever stopped the fight from comin' off. If so be I see you get stuck, I'll come in, sir."
And they were met by the French sailor who thought he spoke English.
"I spik En'lish, goddam," said the Frenchman. "Leaverpool, Por'smout'; mais le capitaine spik besser."
"Good-mornin'," said Simcox meekly to the French captain, a long unhappy looking man, who might have been the skipper of a chasse-marée for all the style he put on.
"Mais, oui——" said the captain.
"This 'ere paper is for you," said Simcox, "and by the powers I hope you can't read it."
He handed the ultimatum to the Frenchman, who studied it while his crew came round.
"Je ne peux pas le lire, monsieur," he said at length.
Simcox turned to Hart.
"There, now what the blazes am I to do when he talks that way?"