The Battleship Boy stood with tightly clenched fists at his side, his teeth grinding in his great effort to control himself. Something of this seemed to convey itself to the jackies who, up to this moment, had looked upon the little scene as a delightful diversion. They saw at once that the red-headed, freckle-faced boy before them was holding himself in check under circumstances that would have driven any one of them into a blind, uncontrollable rage.
“Coward!” shouted Kester.
At the same time he sprang forward, landing a resounding slap on Sam Hickey’s cheek.
Smack!
The Battleship Boy’s right fist shot out. Sam had gone the limit in self-control. He could endure no more.
The fist landed squarely on Bill Kester’s sore nose, but with a force that must have surprised that worthy. The man staggered backward, falling all in a heap, wedged in between the sides of the eight-inch gun carriage.
“Whoop! Now let the eagle scream!” shouted the sailors. “Pretty hot stuff for a shipmate who’s on the binnacle list. Go over and give him another on the same spot, red-head.”
Sam’s deck swab dropped from his hand.
“I’m sorry I did that. I ought not to have hit him, but I just couldn’t help it.”
“Don’t you worry about that, lad,” soothed a shipmate. “Bill got what was coming to him, only you ought to hit him once more in the same place. If you want to finish the job we’ll see that you get fair play.”