'Do we know Gerald Wilson? Don Geraldio? Why, my dear chap, every one knows your brother,' the other Englishman joined in. 'He's the maddest chap in the country, and if our Minister doesn't get him out of it pretty quickly, he'll get his throat cut.'
'Or be a general in the revolutionary army,' Macdonald added. 'He's right "in" with the de Costas.'
Well, that was exciting if you like—to me, but the mater would be awfully upset if she knew—poor old mater.
'Where's he now?' I asked excitedly. 'I've not seen him for five years.'
'Up in Santa Cruz, he lives at the European Club,' Macdonald answered. Then an idea struck him, and he continued, 'Some of your people are going up to the funeral. If you like to go, I'll take you; get ashore to-morrow morning by 6.30. I'm driving up. The funeral will be worth seeing, even if you hadn't your brother up there. I'll find him for you.'
'Thank you very much, I'll try and get leave,' I told him, as he went down into his boat.
'You can bring a couple of your midshipmen if you like,' he shouted up.
I was so excited I hardly knew what to think or do, it was so worrying about Gerald, from the mater's point of view, and so splendid from mine.
To-morrow was my day 'off,' the Commander gave me leave, the two mids. were, of course, the Angel and Cousin Bob, and they were too excited to do anything else but walk up and down the quarterdeck with their eyes glued on the mountains, where Santa Cruz lay, in the clouds, five thousand feet above them.
CHAPTER III