"'Ere's a pretty kettle o' fish," said he at last; "a pretty lot I 'as to my back to let a few Frenchies lick 'em this way. What's the good o' diplomatics if my men 'asn't the guts to support me? Where's that Simcox?"
"Here, sir," said the ambassador.
"Who told you to start a row?" demanded the skipper. "Don't you know your duty? You was to give 'em the hultimatum and retire dignified. Do you call it retirin' dignified to run and beller like a bull-calf?"
Simcox looked sulky and injured.
"How was I to look dignified with six of 'em after me—and two with knives and one with a meat-chopper?" he asked. "And as for startin' a rough house, 'twas Hart as done it."
"Where's Hart?" yelled the Guffin.
"'Ere, 'Art, where are you?" said the crowd.
"I believe he's a prisoner," said Lampert.
"Oh, Lord," said the crowd, "but Jack never 'ad no discretion."
"We must 'ave him liberated," said the skipper firmly. "No man of mine must be in the 'ands of them mutilatin' French. Simcox, you'll 'ave to go to 'em again and open n'gotiashuns!"