“Nay, worthy Vito Viti, it is even so,” interrupted the deputy, with a wave of the hand that was as authoritative as the concession was liberal, and indicative of a spirit enlightened by study; “the fact must be conceded.  There is the fable of Hercules and the wagoner to confirm it.  Did our men first strive, and then pray, more would be done than by first praying and then striving; and now, Signor Capitano, a word on your language, of which I have some small knowledge, and which, doubtless, you speak like a native.”

“Sairtain_lee_,” answered the captain, with perfect self-composure, changing the form of speech from the Italian to the English with a readiness that proved how strong he felt himself on this point; “one cannot fail to speak ze tongue of his own muzzair.”

This was said without any confusion of manner, and with an accent that might very well mislead a foreigner, and it sounded imposing to the vice-governatore, who felt a secret consciousness that he could not have uttered such a sentence to save his own life, without venturing out of his depth; therefore, he pursued the discourse in Italian.

“Your language, Signore,” observed Andrea Barrofaldi, with warmth, “is no doubt a very noble one, for the language in which Shakespeare and Milton wrote cannot be else; but you will permit me to say that it has a uniformity of sound, with words of different letters, that I find as unreasonable as it is embarrassing to a foreigner.”

“I have heard such complaints before,” answered the captain, not at all sorry to find the examination which had proved so awkward to himself likely to be transferred to a language about which he cared not at all, “and have little to say in its defence.  But as an example of what you mean—­”

“Why, Signore, here are several words that I have written on this bit of paper, which sound nearly alike, though, as you perceive, they are quite differently spelled.  Bix, bax, box, bux, and bocks,” continued Andrea, endeavoring to pronounce, “big,” “bag,” “bog,” “bug,” and “box,” all of which, it seemed to him, had a very close family resemblance in sound, though certainly spelled with different letters; “these are words, Signore, that are enough to drive a foreigner to abandon your tongue in despair.”

“Indeed they are; and I often told the person who taught me the language—­”

“How! did you not learn your own tongue as we all get our native forms of speech, by ear, when a child?” demanded the vice-governatore, his suspicions suddenly revived.

“Without question, Signore, but I speak of books, and of learning to read.  When ‘big,’ ‘bag,’ ‘bog,’ bug,’ and ‘box,’” reading from the paper in a steady voice, and a very tolerable pronunciation, “first came before me, I felt all the embarrassment of which you speak.”

“And did you only pronounce these words when first taught to read them?”

This question was awkward to answer; but Vito Viti began to weary of a discourse in which he could take no part, and most opportunely he interposed an objection of his own.