“Then lie down afore I hits yer.”
“You won’t hit me, Tommy,” said the man, with a silly laugh.
“Tell yer I shall. You aggravate me so, doing that there.”
“Will you two men leave off talking?” cried Panton, angrily. “I can’t think. Your words buzz in my brains like a swarm of bees. Ah, I have it now. Where is Mr Lane?”
“Mr Lane, sir?” said Smith, feebly, as he looked round, and then with his eyes staring and blank, he began to feel in his pockets.
“Yes, yes, man. Where is he?”
“I d’know sir. I aren’t seen him. Where’s Mr Lane, Billy? You got him?”
Wriggs chuckled as if he had been asked the most ridiculously comic question he had ever heard.
“I d’know, matey,” he said. “It’s o’ no use to ask me.”
Smith lurched at him with his fists clenched, as if about to strike, but the intention was stronger than the power, and resulted in the sailor blundering up against his mate, and both going down together, and then sitting up and staring at each other in a puzzled way as if they found it impossible to comprehend their position.