“I do not want to fight. I am no fighter,” said Sam.
“No fighter?” the sailors laughed uproariously. “Do you know, red-head, that Bill Kester is a bully and that he’s licked half the crew already?”
“I don’t care if he has licked the whole fleet; he can’t call me a liar and a coward. I could stand for the liar business, because maybe he didn’t mean it that way. But ‘coward’ I draw the line at.”
By this time Kester had extricated himself from his uncomfortable position. No one had offered to help him, and for reasons of his own, Sam had not gone to the fallen man’s assistance. The lad stood calmly awaiting the result of his act.
Bill got to his feet unsteadily, blinked his eyes, gingerly felt his now flattened nose, then thrusting out his chin, he glared at his young adversary.
Sam gave back the look unflinchingly.
“Shall we call it square? I’m sorry I tripped you and sorry I had to hit you,” announced Hickey in a manly tone, wholly free from anger.
For an instant Kester hesitated.
“All right; shake, shipmate,” he said, advancing.
Sam met him half way with a pleased smile on his face, his right hand extended to complete the truce that had been declared.