“Out of the way will you,” cried Syd, fiercely; “can’t you see he’s busy?”
That which had been boiling in him had gone over the side at last, and Terry stopped short staring with astonishment.
“If you want to talk to him, wait till he has done my head. Better talk to me, for it was you, you great coward, who cut me down.”
“Why you—oh, this is too good!” cried Terry, with a forced laugh, as he looked round at the little knot of his messmates. “There, wait a minute till I’ve done with Molly Roylance, and I’ll soon settle your little bill.”
Roylance stood looking pale and excited, with the scissors and plaister still in his hand, but on his guard ready to spring back or sidewise if attacked. Then he, like his would-be assailant, stared in astonishment. For Syd had resumed his position between them as if about to lower his head to the light; when, feeling that if he wished to maintain his character he must act sharply against what was to him a new boy in the midshipman’s mess, Terry laid hold of Syd’s collar and swung him round.
“Out of the way, will you!” he said; and as the road was clear he made a spring at Roylance, but suddenly gave his head a twist, tripped over the new sea-chest that was in the way, and fell heavily.
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he cried, as he sprang to his feet. “Well, the sooner you have your lesson the better.”
He began to divest himself of his upper garment as he spoke; and Syd, whose teeth were set, and whose knuckles were tingling from the effect of the blow he had planted on Terry, rapidly imitated him.
“No, no,” said Roylance, excitedly; “this is my quarrel. You see fair.”
“You want me to quarrel with you?” cried Syd, fiercely; “see fair yourself. Hold that.”