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วิเคราะห์ บอล 888 วัน นี้ CHAPTER XXXI A WOUNDED COMMANDER "Perhaps not; but I should not care to have the Bronx sunk by a columbiad in the attempt to find out the strength of the fort." "Who is it? What is the matter?" demanded the lady of the mansion, in tones which indicated anxiety if not alarm. He had a wife, a daughter, and a son, and his family were as patriotic as he was himself. At sixteen Christy, the son, had gone into the navy. He had learned to be a sailor and an engineer in his repeated cruises in the Bellevite, his father's large steam yacht, now a man-of-war in the navy. In two years the young man had worked his way up 71 to the rank of lieutenant. He was very large for his age, and his nautical and mechanical education had prepared him for service to a degree which made him almost a prodigy, though his courage and skill had been fully equalled, if not surpassed, by other naval officers not older than himself. Ensign Flint was appointed to the command of the Bronx by the flag-officer, who had called upon Captain Passford in his stateroom. Christy had not failed to commend his executive officer in the highest terms. The commodore suggested that Christy could not be very kindly disposed towards Captain Battleton of the Vernon, on account of his decision against him in the matter of his identity. "We have met before," replied the stranger. "Shall I help you to some of these fried potatoes? They are very good, and I can recommend them.