“Weel done, laddie; tat’s prave. Gie it ta saucy callant again. She’ll sweep up ta feathers when she’s tone,” cried Andrew in ecstasy.
But now Watty’s blood boiled right over, and as soon as his eyes were clear he rushed at Steve with an angry yell, fists doubled, teeth set; and, regardless of the goose hurled in his face, he continued his charge right home and up to his adversary’s guard.
The next minute they were fighting hard, blow succeeding blow in the most unscientific way; but the end was not to be then, for Andrew cried in a hoarse whisper:
“Rin, laddie, rin! Here’s ta skipper.”
Watty heard the terrible words—words awful to him—and he did “rin.”
Not far. The galley door was open, and close at hand. Into it he darted like a fox into its hole, and Steve stood alone, covered with feathers, to face the captain and Mr Handscombe, who, hearing the scuffling forward, hurried up to see the cause.
“Highly creditable, upon my word!” cried Captain Marsham, frowning. “Could not you find anything more sensible to do than to get into this disgraceful quarrel with the ship’s boy?”
Steve stood breathing hard, flushed with anger and mortification.
“I’d try a sweep next time, Stephen,” said the doctor sarcastically; “he would not come off worse upon you than this fellow has done.”
“He insulted and struck me,” stammered Steve. “You would not have had me stand still and submit to that, sir?”