“You’ll take all I have to say, and you can lay to that, sir!” retorted the old man. Toward Hal he advanced, fists doubled. The boy cast about him for some weapon. Not for all his strength did he dare stand against this overpowering old man.
Below, on the porch, the doctor had heard sounds of war, and had pegged into the hall at his best speed. There he met Ezra, who had just come from the cabin.
“Great gulls! The safe’s open—the cap’n—knows! Hell’s loose now!” Ezra gasped.
He made for the stairs. The doctor tried to clutch him back.
“No use, Ezra! Too late—you can’t stop it now with all that nonsense about your being the thief!”
“Let me up them stairs, damn you!”
“Never! They’ve got to settle this themselves. You’ll only make things worse!”
With an oath, a violent wrench, Ezra tore himself away, and scrambled up the stairs.
“Cap’n Briggs! Hal!” he shouted, torn by conflicting loves. “Wait on, both o’ ye. I done it—nobody but me—”
“There now, how does that strike you?” sneered Hal, respited by the shock of this self-accusation that dropped the captain’s fists. “The son-of-a-sea-cook owns up to it, himself!”