After some delay, during which we were much diverted by the hilarious
good-nature of our guard--one of our number was called out for,
followed by an order for him to enter the house alone.

On returning a moment after, he told us we had little to encounter. It
had simply been asked whether he still continued of the same mind; on
replying yes, something was put down upon a piece of paper, and he
was waved outside. All being summoned in rotation, my own turn came
at last.

Within, Wilson and his two friends were seated magisterially at a
table--an inkstand, a pen, and a sheet of paper lending quite a
business-like air to the apartment. These three gentlemen, being
arrayed in coats and pantaloons, looked respectable, at least in a
country where complete suits of garments are so seldom met with. One
present essayed a solemn aspect; but having a short neck and full
face, only made out to look stupid.

It was this individual who condescended to take a paternal interest in
myself. After declaring my resolution with respect to the ship
unalterable, I was proceeding to withdraw, in compliance with a sign
from the consul, when the stranger turned round to him, saying, "Wait
a minute, if you please, Mr. Wilson; let me talk to that youth. Come
here, my young friend: I'm extremely sorry to see you associated with
these bad men; do you know what it will end in?"

"Oh, that's the lad that wrote the Round Robin," interposed the
consul. "He and that rascally doctor are at the bottom of the whole
affair--go outside, sir."