"That's your look-out," said the Guffin, with a hiccup. "Shall I keep a dog and bark myself? Now, 'urry and get it hover. And let hevery one 'ave a weapon, 'andspikes and belayin' pins. Now go, Simcox!" "Hart, come along with me," said Simcox. And as the "old man" was engaged in keeping his balance, he made no objection. "I think this is a herror of judgment, sir," said Hart; "my hidea of a hultimatum was jumpin' on 'em unexpected, and givin' 'em toko afore they know'd where they was. My notion of fightin' (and it pays hevery time) is to haggravate your man till he's ready to 'it, but to 'it 'im fust. An' if I thinks a cove will 'it me in five minutes, I lets no time go by in hanticipatin' 'im. But this will warn 'em." "But they have no one who really knows English, Hart," groaned Simcox; "and I don't know the first word of French." "Never mind, sir," said Hart encouragingly. "I've 'ad many a row with a Frenchy, and I never knowed my 'avin' not the least notion of what 'e meant ever stopped the fight from comin' off. If so be I see you get stuck, I'll come in, sir." And they were met by the French sailor who thought he spoke English. "I spik En'lish, goddam," said the Frenchman. "Leaverpool, Por'smout'; mais le capitaine spik besser." "Good-mornin'," said Simcox meekly to the French captain, a long unhappy looking man, who might have been the skipper of a _chasse-marée_ for all the style he put on. "Mais, oui----" said the captain. "This 'ere paper is for you," said Simcox, "and by the powers I hope you can't read it." He handed the ultimatum to the Frenchman, who studied it while his crew came round. "Je ne peux pas le lire, monsieur," he said at length. Simcox turned to Hart. "There, now what the blazes am I to do when he talks that way?" "Just hexplain it," said Hart, as he helped himself to a chew. "Say, 'Hout o' this!'" "It means you've got to go," said Simcox; "you can't be allowed to stay in the best part of our island." "Goddam," cried the Frenchman, with his hand in his hair. "I spik English, two, tree word: pilote, feesh, shannel, owaryo!" "Owaryo?" asked Simcox. "That's his way o' sayin' 'How are you?'" interjected Hart, who was contemptuously sizing up the French sailors. "Ah, how are you?" said Simcox. "Owaryo," replied the French captain, smiling. "Very well, thanks," said Simcox; "but I'm the ambassador." "Ma foi, ambassadeur! You spik Français?" "And you've just got to get," added Simcox. "March!" cried Hart. The Frenchmen "jabbered" a bit among themselves. "Quoi donc? Marcher?" asked their skipper. "We, old son," said Hart; "marshay if you like. Just pack up and quit. We gives you an hour to gather up your dunnage. Now do you understand?" Whether the Frenchmen understood or not it was tolerably obvious they did not like the tone with which Hart spoke, or the looks of evident disfavour he cast at them. The captain turned away.