“Me? Mais non, Michié. And yet ze Alcalde, he mek me afraid. Once he put me in ze calaboose when I tried to climb ze balcon'.”
Nick roared.
“I will show you how, Xavier,” he said; “as to climbing the balconies, there is a convenance in it, as in all else. For instance, one must be daring, and discreet, and nimble, and ready to give the law a presentable answer, and lacking that, a piastre. And then the fair one must be a fair one indeed.”
“Diable, Michié,” cried Xavier, “you are ze mischief.”
“Nay,” said Nick, “I learned it all and much more from my cousin, Mr. Ritchie.”
Xavier stared at me for an instant, and considering that he knew nothing of my character, I thought it extremely impolite of him to laugh. Indeed, he tried to control himself, for some reason standing in awe of my appearance, and then he burst out into such loud haw-haws that the crew poked their heads above the cabin hatch.
“Michié Reetchie,” said Xavier, and again he burst into laughter that choked further speech. He controlled himself and laid his finger on his wen.
“You don't believe it,” said Nick, offended.
“Michié Reetchie a gallant!” said Xavier.
“An incurable,” said Nick, “an amazingly clever rogue at device when there is a petticoat in it. Davy, do I do you justice?”