With a savage Italian oath, Tony plunged his hand into his pocket, and the lights flashed on a glittering blade of steel, which his shaking fingers brought forth.
Fortunately for Arlington, the two sailors and Tom Moran seized the enraged Italian.
“Leta go! Leta go! He strika me!”
“Put up that knife!” growled one of the men. “Do you want to hang?”
“He strika me!” palpitated Tony, struggling to get at Chet.
The sight of the knife caused Chester to pale a little and shrink away.
“Hang onto him!” he ordered. “Don’t let the murderous fellow break away from you!”
One of the sailors attempted to reason with the Italian, but it was some moments before Tony quieted down and put up the knife. By that time several others had taken a hand, and there was no possibility that the infuriated Italian could reach Chester.
As soon as he saw this, Arlington once more became bold and reckless in his manner, and applied several scornful epithets to Tony.
“Get out of here, now!” he commanded. “Go back to the yacht and stay there!”