"I can't help my feelings, Bill," said the skipper softly.
"And don't you call me Bill," roared the "Bruiser" with sudden ferocity.
"D'ye think I mind what you and your little tinpot crew say. You wait
till we get ashore, my friend, and the mate too. Both of you wait!"
He turned his back on them and walked off to the galley, from which,
with a view of giving them an object-lesson of an entertaining kind, he
presently emerged with a small sack of potatoes, which he slung from the
boom and used as a punching ball, dealing blows which made the master of
the Frolic sick with apprehension.
"It's no good," he said to the mate; "kindness is thrown away on that
man."
"Well, if he hits one, he's got to hit the lot," said the mate. "We'll
all stand by you."
"I can't always have the crew follering me about," said the skipper
dejectedly. "No, he'll wait his opportunity, and, after he's broke my
head, he'll go 'ome and break up my wife's 'art."
"She won't break 'er 'art," said the mate confidently. "She and you'll
have a rough time of it; p'raps it would be better for you if she did
break it a bit, but she's not that sort of woman. Well, those of us as
live longest'll see the most."
For the remainder of that day the cook maintained a sort of unnatural
calm.
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