where it is the habit of the Livornese to take their ante-luncheon
vermouth.

The more I saw of Hornby, the more I liked him. He was chatty and witty,
and treated his accident as a huge joke.

"We shall be here quite a week, I suppose," he said as we were taking
our vermouth. "We're on our way down to the Greek Islands, as my friend
Chater wants to see them. The engineer says there's something strained
that we must get mended. But, by the way," he added, "why don't you dine
with us on board to-night? Do. We can give you a few English things that
may be a change to you."

This invitation I gladly accepted for two reasons. One was because the
suspicions of the Captain of the Port had aroused my curiosity, and the
other was because I had, honestly speaking, taken a great fancy to
Hornby.

The captain of the _Lola_, a short, thickset Scotsman from Dundee, with
a barely healed cicatrice across his left cheek, called at the Consulate
at two o'clock and made his report, which appeared to me to be a very
lame one. He struck me as being unworthy his certificate, for he was
evidently entirely out of his bearings when the accident occurred. The
owner and his friend Chater were in their berths asleep, when suddenly
he discovered that the vessel was making no headway. They had, in fact,
run upon the dangerous shoal without being aware of it. A strong sea was
running with a stiff breeze, and although his seamanship was poor, he
was capable enough to recognize at once that they were in a very
perilous position.