Through old Jerry they learned that Baxter hated the work given to him and that he was being favored a little by the first mate.
"Tell ye what, I hate that mate," said Jerry. "He's got a wicked eye, and he drinks like a fish."
"I know he drinks," answered Tom. "I smelt the liquor in his breath."
They were now getting down into warmer latitudes and the next night proved unusually hot. It was dark with no stars shining, and the air was close, as if another storm was at hand.
"I can't sleep," said Tom, after rolling around in his berth for half an hour. "I'm going on deck." And he dressed himself and went up for some air. He walked forward and leaned over the rail, watching the waves as they slipped behind the noble ship.
Tom's coming on deck had been noticed by Dan Baxter, who sat on the side of the fore-castle, meditating on his troubles. As the bully saw the youth leaning over the rail, his face took on a look of bitter hatred.
"I'll teach him to laugh at me!" he muttered.
Gazing around he saw that nobody was within sight and then he arose to his feet. With a cat-like tread he came up behind Tom, who still looked at the waves, totally unconscious of danger.
Baxter's heart beat so loudly that he was afraid Tom would hear it. Again he looked around. Not a soul was near, and the gloom of the night was growing thicker.
"He'll laugh another way soon!" he muttered, and stepped closer.