Just then Terry came swaggering up, and Roylance winced, the scissors with which he was cutting the plaister trembling a little.
“Oh, look here, Master Roy,” said Terry, haughtily. “You made some remarks to me in the night about that cutting down of the hammock. I want an apology from you.”
“I’m busy now, Mr Terry,” said Roylance; and the irritable feeling which troubled Syd seemed to be on the increase.
“I didn’t ask you if you were busy, sir, I said I wanted an apology,” continued Terry, while the rest of the mess looked on excitedly at the promising quarrel between the two eldest middies on board the Sirius.
“I’m attending to this new messmate’s hurt.”
“Let him go to the doctor if he is hurt,” snarled Terry. “I tell you I want an apology. You as good as said that I cut down this cub’s hammock last night.”
“If I had quite said it, I dare say I shouldn’t have been far wrong,” replied Roylance, in a low tone.
“Oh, indeed, miss,” sneered Terry, “you always were clever with your tongue, like the long thin molly you are. Now then, take that back before—”
He ceased speaking and doubled his fists.
Syd felt as if he were sitting on a fire, and something within him was beginning to boil.