“Don’t you give me none of your airs,” yelled Brown. “I ain’t going to stand nothing more from you.”
“You should say, ‘Don’t give me any of your airs,’” Sam said, sweetly, “and the last half of your sentence almost defies correction.”
A group of passengers and white-aproned servants, assembled on the deck forward, applauded the victor.
Brown turned to the wheel, raging and growling. Clemens went below, where he expected Captain Klinefelter to put him in irons, perhaps, for it was thought to be felony to strike a pilot. The officer took him into his private room and closed the door. At first he looked at the culprit thoughtfully, then he made some inquiries:
“Did you strike him first?” Captain Klinefelter asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“What with?”
“A stool, sir.”
“Hard?”
“Middling, sir.”