"You will when this night is over. My work has only just commenced. Come, captain, you and I must not quarrel. You are a brave man, I know. Don't drive me to extremities. I must have your uniform and I'll give you—these."
Young Glory laughed as he pointed to the rags he was wearing.
A soldier soon recognizes the truth. A civilian is more disposed to argue. So the result was that Captain Calderon yielded with the best grace he could, and commenced to undress.
Young Glory, meanwhile, was doing the same, and in a few minutes the exchange had been effected.
Captain Calderon was a Cuban fisherman. Young Glory was a Spanish officer.
"They fit me beautifully, capitan. Don't you think so? Why, really, I'm not a conceited chap, but I don't think it would be well for you if the fair Julia saw me to-night."
"So you were listening to what I and my comrades were saying?" asked the captain, with a black look on his face.
"I heard every word. It's a way I have, and I find it extremely useful sometimes. I shall to-night."
"And now I suppose I can go?"
Young Glory smiled pityingly.