The commodore was a burly, pink-cheeked, big-hearted man. What a dandy he was! When on shore he wore a cocked hat, a coat with large lace cuffs, and a cape cut low to show his neck-stock of fine linen cambric. His breeches were closely fitted with large buckles. He wore silk stockings and large buckled shoes. No one who saw him sauntering along Market Street would take him to be a sailor, although his tongue betrayed his calling. Nautical terms, strange oaths, shipping topics were forever on his lips. His clothes spoke of the ballroom, but his language had the tang of the ship's deck and the salt wind. He was fond of the ladies. It often amused us to see him dancing attendance on a maid who minced along in brocade or taffeta, with her skirts ballooning from the hoops underneath, with bright-colored shoes peeping out from beneath her skirts, and with an enormous plume in her big bonnet that waved towards the commodore's cocked hat. The hooped skirts seemed to be trying to keep her escort at a distance, while he struggled manfully to pour his words into her ear. Murad was still hovering around us. Evidently anxious to appease the commodore, he had begun to talk to him on sea topics. The commodore, in turn, started to draw out the Egyptian as to opportunities American shippers might have to sell cargoes of American goods to Mediterranean cities. "In Barbary, Egypt and beyond," said Murad, "will lie your country's chief market. The ports of the Mediterranean are eager for your goods. Lads like these----" he fixed glowing eyes on Alexander and myself--"will live to make their fortunes in the Mediterranean." "I don't know but what you're right," said the commodore, "if someone will kindly sweep those Barbary buccaneers out of the way. Looks as if we'll have to build a squadron to do what the navies of Europe have failed to do through all these centuries. Matters are coming to a head between our country and the pirate nests of Barbary. I've heard reports of American ships being captured by ships sent out by the ruler of Algiers. It may take us a little time to wake up, but in the end we're going to stop that!" "That," said Murad suavely, "is nothing new. If you lived in the Orient, my dear commodore, you would think little of it. It's merely the way the rulers of the Barbary countries have of notifying your new country that it's America's duty to pay them toll--ships and jewels and gold. All of the nations of Europe pay them for protection, and of course, in justice to themselves and those who pay them tribute, they cannot exempt America. If I were your President, I would send liberal presents every year to the princes of Algiers, Tunis, Tripoli and Morocco. Then, sir, American ships and sailors would have nothing to fear in the Mediterranean." "Just so!" said the commodore. He cast a long look at the Egyptian, glanced around at us to see how we took this proposition, and chewed his tobacco with fierce energy. Then he exploded: