"How dare you!" he cried. "I'm a commission merchant. I deal in
whatever I please--and I'm the American Consul!"

The Captain laughed, and with a wave of his hand in farewell backed
away from the rail.

"That may be," he shouted, "but this line isn't carrying freight for
General Laguerre, nor for you, neither." He returned and made a
speaking trumpet of his hands. "Tell him from me," he shouted,
mockingly, "that if he wants his sewing-machines he'd better go North
and steal 'em. Same as he stole our Nancy Miller."

The young man shook both his fists in helpless anger.

"You damned banana trader," he shrieked, "you'll lose your license for
this. I'll fix you for this. I'll dirty your card for you, you
pirate!"

The Captain flung himself far over the rail. He did not need a
speaking trumpet now--his voice would have carried above the tumult of
a hurricane.

"You'll what?" he roared. "You'll dirty my card, you thieving
filibuster? Do you know what I'll do to you? I'll have your tin sign
taken away from you, before I touch this port again. You'll see--you--
you--" he ended impotently for lack of epithets, but continued in
eloquent pantomime to wave his arms.

With an oath the young man recognized defeat, and shrugged his
shoulders.