im.

They went a little way off with marked indecision, turning repeatedly
to look at him once more. In a few moments one of them, the oldest,
returned, approaching the table timidly.

"Excuse me, but aren't you Captain Ferragut?..." He asked this question
in Valencian, with his right hand at his cap, ready to take it off.

Ulysses stopped his salutation and offered him a seat. Yes, he was
Ferragut. What did he want?...

The man refused to sit down. He wished to tell him privately two
special things. When the captain presented to him his mate as a man in
whom they could have complete confidence, he then sat down. The two
companions, breaking through the human current, were standing on the
edge of the sidewalk, turning their backs to the cafe.

He was skipper of a small craft; Ferragut had not been mistaken. He was
speaking slowly, as though taken up with his final revelation to which
all that he was saying was merely an introduction.

"The times are not so bad.... Money is to be gained in the sea; more
than ever. I am from Valencia.... We have brought three boats from
there with wine and rice. A good trip, but it was necessary to navigate
close to the coast, following the curve of the gulf, without venturing
to pass from cape to cape for fear of the submarine.... I have met a
submarine."

Ulysses suspected that these last words contained the real motive which
had made the man, overcoming his timidity, venture to address him.

"It was not on this trip nor on the one before," continued the man of
the sea. "I met it two days before last Christmas. In the winter I
devote myself to fishing. I am the owner of a pair of fishing
smacks.... We were near the island Columbretas when suddenly we saw a
submarine appear near us. The Germans did not do us any harm; the only
vexatious thing was that we had to give them a part of our fish for
what they wished to give us. Then they ordered me to come aboard the
deck of a submarine in order to meet the commander. He was a young
fellow who could talk Castilian as I have heard it spoken over there in
the Americas when I was a youngster sailing on a brigantine."

The man stopped, rather reserved, as though doubtful whether to
continue his story.

"And what did the German say?" asked Ferragut, in order to encourage
him to continue.

"Upon learning that I was a Valencian, he asked me if I was acquainted
with you. He asked me about your steamer, wanting to know if it
generally sai