“You cowardly lubbers, why didn’t you come sooner to help me, instead of leaving me to frizzle here? I might have burned to death a dozen times for aught you cared.”
“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed a couple of the men now, to Allstone’s great annoyance.
“Hold your tongue, and come down, boy,” he cried. “You can’t stop there.”
“Be off and lock the door again, bully,” cried Hilary. “You great ugly, cowardly hound, if I had you on board the Kestrel, you should be triced up and have five dozen on your bare back.”
“Haw! haw! haw!” came in a regular chorus this time, for the danger was over.
“I’d like to look on while the crew of you were being talked to by the boatswain,” cried Hilary, angrily—“a set of cowardly loons.”
“That’ll do!” cried Allstone, who was hoarse with passion. “Go in and fetch him out.”
No one stirred, and Allstone went in himself, but only to be seized with a furious fit of coughing which lasted a couple of minutes or so, and to his companions’ intense delight.
The fit over, the fellow went in again and stood beneath the window.
“Come down!” he cried; but as Hilary did not condescend to notice him Allstone seized the young man by one of his legs, with the result that he clung with both hands to the iron bars, and raising up his knees for a moment, kicked out with as much cleverness as his friend the jackass, catching Allstone full in the chest and sending him staggering back for a few steps, where, unable to recover his balance, he went down heavily in a sitting position.