Joe reddened to the roots of his hair.
"I ax their pardon, every mother's son of them," he said, tugging at his forelock; "but my feelin's carries me away."
"Tell us what it is, then," said Jefferson, "and perhaps we can offer advice."
"Well, then, sir, I've been insulted."
"I see, I see," said Jefferson; "you have been having a row with one of your messmates."
"And you have punched his head?" suggested young Jack.
"Serve him right, too, Joe," said Harry Girdwood.
"No, no, young gentlemen," said Joe, "I ain't done that, or else I should be quite happy—that's just it—because I wanted his honour's permission."
"What?"
"To give him a good licking," urged Joe Basalt; "you see, I couldn't well do it without, as it's the stowaway."