“Just tell your captain that my companion is an Irish midshipman. It’s a curious habit he’s got of laughing at anything which tickles his fancy, and he cannot mean to be disrespectful to so great a hero.”
The first lieutenant explained what Higson had said, and possibly saved the midshipman from being then and there run through the body by the irate Don.
“Then I am to understand that this is the message I am to carry back to my commander,” said Higson, to the fat officer.
“Yes, and I hope your commander is a wise man, and will not venture into the harbour,” was the reply.
“I’ll answer that he will though,” exclaimed Higson, making a profound bow; “so good morning, Don Whiskerandos!”
As the commodore, turning his back, strutted aft, fuming as before, Higson, shaking hands with the first lieutenant, exclaimed—
“I wish that we may have the chance of meeting as friends another time; for you’re a good fellow, that you are.”
He and Desmond then beat a retreat to the gangway. The lieutenant was so pleased with the last remark, that he ordered side-ropes to be shipped and the side to be manned, and the English officers took their departure in a rather more dignified manner than they had arrived.
“There seems a good chance of our having a brush with the Dons,” observed Desmond, as soon as they had shoved off and were pulling for the shore.
“Perhaps the consul will settle matters, but if not I’m very certain that Mr Murray will stand no nonsense,” answered Higson.