eat ashore is quite a treat when one has been boxed up on board for some time. So we'll accept, won't we, Hylton?"
"Certainly," replied the other; and then we began chatting about the peril of the previous night, Hornby telling me how he had copied the two letters of thanks in Italian and sent them to their respective addresses.
"Phil blasphemed like a Levant skipper when he copied those Italian words!" laughed Chater. "He had made three copies of each letter before he could get all the lingo in accordance with your copy."
"I've been the whole afternoon at them—confound them!" declared the owner of the Lola with a laugh. "But, of course, I didn't want to make a lot of errors in spelling. These Italians are so very punctilious."
"Well, you certainly did the right thing to thank the Admiral," I said. "It's very unusual for him to send out torpedo-boats to help a vessel in distress. That is generally left to the harbor tug."
"Yes, I feel that it was most kind of him. That's why I took all the trouble to write. I don't understand a word of Italian, neither does Chater."
"But you have Italians on board?" I remarked. "The two sailors who rowed me out are Genoese, from their accent."
Hornby and Chater exchanged glances—glances of distinct uneasiness, I thought.
Then the owner of the Lola said—
