“Yes,” replied Frank. “No man can hit me and get away without my hitting back.”
“But he is a great deal larger and stronger than you are; and he is probably more proficient in the use of his fists.”
“He may be and he may not,” replied Frank. “I have taken boxing lessons and am not a novice.”
“Well,” said Jack, “it’s your funeral. But I would rather take him on myself.”
“You may have a chance at some other date,” said Frank, and the two made their way to the spot designated for the fight.
Word that there was going to be a fistic battle spread quickly among the crew, and there was a stampede forward on the gun deck. The British sailor loves nothing better than a fist fight, and the news that the encounter was to be between officers added to the enthusiasm.
Since coming aboard Frank and Jack had come to be great favorites with the men, while Lieutenant Taylor, because of his arrogant attitude, was cordially disliked.
Less than twenty minutes later, Lieutenant Taylor, still with a sneer on his face, arrived.
“Now, listen! I am going to run this show,” declared Jack. “And what I say goes. Is that right, men?”
Cries of “Right you are,” and “You bet,” came from all sides.