“Who?”
“Bill Kester.”
“I might have known it.”
“It’s only fair to tell you, Mr. Dynamite, that he’s about the scrappiest scrapper on board the ‘Long Island.’ We’ve been thinking of getting one of the men from aboard the ‘Michigan’ to come over and whale the daylights out of him some of these days. He’s got to get it before he’ll quit picking trouble with other folks. You’re under-size and lighter than Bill, even if you did lay him out the other day. But because of your size you’ve got a right to refuse, if you want to,” continued the sailor.
It was plain, however, that he secretly hoped Dan would accept the challenge to do battle with the ship’s bully.
“No, boys, I have had one fight, though it wasn’t much of a fight after all. You know what happened? I was called before the mast and let go with a warning. Next time they would put me ashore and tell me to go home. I wish to stay in the service. When I fight, let it be under the Flag I serve.”
“Nothing of the sort. Bill will be telling, all over the ship, that you are afraid to meet him, and maybe he’ll call you a coward. Of course we fellows know you ain’t, Dynie.” (“Dynie,” since Dan’s first outburst with Kester, had become a favorite nickname for the boy.)
“He had better not,” Dan made answer in a low, tense voice, a dull flush suffusing his cheeks. “If he does that, I may be tempted to use a marline spike on him.”
“Then you’d sure get out of the service,” replied the sailor.
“You tell him to keep away and let me alone. If he doesn’t I’ll defend myself, as I did before, that is, if I can. I am not looking for trouble, but I’ll face it if it comes.”