"He bit my thumb," he muttered, sullenly.
"You know well enough he was just in sport. Don't you kick him again! You hear me!"
Percy mumbled an indistinct reply. As soon as the cabin was unlocked he turned into his bunk, without a word to anybody. For him the Fourth had been anything but a holiday.
Before going to sleep, Spurling outlined their work for the morrow.
"Throppy, you and I'll try our luck on Martingale Bank. It's only a half-mile northwest of the island, and sometimes you can get a big catch there. I've been saving it for a time like this. Budge, you and Percy ought to get at least a couple of hundred pounds out of those lobster-traps. They'll have been down two days and should yield some good-sized ones. Set the clock at four, Filippo! We'll be lazy for once."
Percy's sleep was broken. He dreamed of being chased along the main street of Vinalhaven by a crowd of small boys shooting at him with Roman candles. He dodged into an open doorway, only to be driven out by a giant with Jabe's face and a half-dozen pairs of arms the fists of which were studded with a double allowance of knuckles. He was fast being pounded to a pulp when the alarm-clock went off. He woke in a cold sweat.
Lying with closed eyes, he pretended to be asleep while Jim and Throppy finished a hasty breakfast. Soon the exhaust of the Barracouta proclaimed that they were on their way to Martingale Bank. Percy dozed, but remained conscious of Filippo's culinary operations.
At five Lane turned out, according to schedule. He shook Percy vigorously.
"Wake up, Whittington! Breakfast!"
"Don't care for mine yet."