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The captain subsided into the nearest chair, bereft of future speech, which is a deal of emphasis to put on the phrase. Picard, a duke, and only that morning his hands had been yellow with the stains of the donkey-engine oil! And by and by the question set alive his benumbed brain; what was a duke doing on the yacht Laura? "Holleran, we go t' the commodore. The devil's t' pay.
What's a dook doin' on th' ship, and we expectin' to dig up gold in yonder mountains? Look alive, man; they's villany afoot!" Holleran's jaw sagged. "What's this you're telling me, Flanagan?" said the admiral perturbed. "Ask Holleran here, sir; he wus with me when th' waiter said Picard wus a dook. I've suspicioned his han's this long while, sir." "Yes, sir; Picard it was," averred Holleran.
The captain said Faugh! as he drank it. "Try th' native wine, Capt'n," suggested the chief-engineer. "I have a picture of Cap'n Flanagan drinkin' the misnamed vinegar. No Dago's bare fut on the top o' mine, when I'm takin' a glass. An' that's th' way they make ut. This Napoleyun wus a fine man. He pushed 'em round some." "Sure, he had Irish blood in 'im, somewheres," Holleran assented.
Holleran turned to the captain, and with the assistance of a waiter, the two righted the old man. "Do you speak English?" roared the old sailor. "Yes, sir," respectfully. "Who wus that?"
"Bah! Mistaken identity." "I'm sure, sir," insisted Holleran. "Picard has a whisker-mole on his chin, sir, like these forriners grow, sir. Picard, sir, an' no mistake." "But what would a duke . . ." "Ay, sir; that's the question," interrupted Flanagan; and added in a whisper: "Y' c'n buy a dozen dooks for a couple o' million francs, sir.
Picard calmly shook off the hand, and, adding a vigorous push which sent the captain staggering among the little iron-tables, proceeded nonchalantly. Holleran leaped to his feet, but there was a glitter in Picard's eye that did not promise well for any rough-and-tumble fight. Picard's muscular shoulders moved off toward the vanishing point.
Now it came about that Captain Flanagan, who had not left the ship once during the journey, found his one foot aching for a touch and feel of the land. So he and Holleran, the chief-engineer, came ashore a little before noon and decided to have a bite of maccaroni under the shade of the palms in the Place des Palmiers. A bottle of warm beer was divided between them.
He wished he had left the women at Marseilles. "Say nothing to any one," he warned. "But if this man Picard comes aboard again, keep him there." "Yessir." "That'll be all." "What d' y' think?" asked Holleran, on the return to the Place des Palmiers, for the two were still hungry. "Think? There's a fight, bucko!" jubilantly. "These pleasure-boats sure become monotonous."
Holleran rubbed his dark hands. "When d' y' think it'll begin?" "I wish ut wus t'day." "I've seen y' do some fine work with th' peg." They had really seen Picard and Breitmann talking together. The acquaintanceship might have dated from the sailing of the Laura, and again it mightn't.
"But I say," suddenly stretching his lean neck, "will ye look t' see who's comin' along!" Flanagan stared. "If ut ain't that son-of-a-gun ov a Picard, I'll eat my hat!" The captain grew purple. "An' leavin' th' ship without orders!" "An' the togs!" murmured Holleran. "Watch me!" said Flanagan, rising and squaring his peg.
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