"I won't have it!" he roared, and thrust his tusked face forward presumably to let Jack see the determination in it.
Jack merely canted himself backwards, hands in pockets, and—"Take your face off me," he said quietly, "or I'll spit in your eye."
The night-watchman was shocked.
"That's a nice thing for a lad to say to an elderly man," he commented.
"Oh, shut up!" said Jack quietly.
"If my son was here——"
"If your son was here," said Jack mockingly. "I know all about him—he's six foot three, isn't he?—I'd pound the stuffing out of him. One of the family is enough to be going on with. If you come chumming round the decks after me any more, I'll come along and stick you in the ribs to-night, when you're down there supposed to be watching. I will. I don't want you to come talking to me. You'll waken up with a knife in you. Now, that'll do!" and he strolled on, leaving the night-watchman with a face of terror, but drawing himself erect, and twisting his moustache.
Jack walked the length of the deck and turned, but stepping a foot to one side so that he walked back, in his slow march, direct upon the night-watchman. As he walked he took his right hand from his pocket, clenched, and walked swinging it. "Get out of the way!" he said. "Shift!" The watchman moved on one side. Jack walked on, wheeled, marked where the night-watchman stood now, and, both hands in pockets again, he trod the deck back like a panther, straight toward him.
"You're doing this on purpose!" boomed the night-watchman, squaring himself again.
Jack raised his handsome and evil face.