Mr. Cæsar gave his answer with some emphasis:

"Will--you--all--sit--down?"

This rhetorical question being in the nature of a command, we
sullenly complied, tossing our heads to show our sense of the
indignity to which we had been submitted. Pennybet, meanwhile,
continued to turn his handle in a leisurely fashion and touch his
forehead like an organ-grinder.

Mr. Cæsar looked at him angrily and pathetically, conscious of his
powerlessness.

"Que faites vous, Pennybet? Asseyez vous toute suite!"

"Yes, sir," answered Penny, who had no sympathy with German, French,
or any of these ludicrous languages. "Yes, sir, we had two, and one
died."

"Que voulez vous dire? Allez à votre place!"

"It's all right, sir, if you cross your fingers," suggested Penny.

Poor Mr. Cæsar made a movement, as though he would go and push the
mutineer to his place.

"You will go to your seat immediately, Pennybet," he ordered.

Penny cocked his head on one side. "Oh, _sir_," said he