“It is finished, but it wasn’t stipulated in the contract as to who was going to do the finishing.”
“You–––”
“Shet that trap of yours, Sim. If you 111 don’t it’s li’ble to get another catch,” threatened the Captain.
Hicks eyed the seaman, rubbed his swollen nose, and backed away.
Mr. Beaver did a corkscrew dance, and tried in vain to release the hold on his collar.
“Cap’n Pott!” exclaimed the surprised minister who noticed for the first time that the seaman was holding Mr. Beaver. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Well, this little shrimp was mighty interested in the boxing, and I thought he might as well come down for a few lessons that he wouldn’t forget right off. I cal’lated to give him a few myself.”
Mr. Beaver’s face was purple. His words would probably have been of the same hue had there been any possibility of releasing them.
“Let him go, Cap’n, you’re strangling him.”
“He’d otter be choked, if he’s as deep in this thing as I think he is. But he ain’t in no condition for a lesson to-night, he’s a mite too worked up. Harry, I’ll let you off, but if this here yarn gets out into the church through 112 you or through the rest of the menagerie, we’ll give you the little lesson I spoke about, and it will stick like glue to your anatomy. Now, you run along to Eadie, she’ll be missing you, and I’d hate to send you home mussed up.”