“Yes,” sneered Terry, who was laughing by the door.
“No, no,” cried Jenkins, maliciously. “Mike Terry would have liked to see him without any fistusses.”
“Why?” said Roylance.
“’Cause he could lick him then.”
“I’ll put that down in my log, Baby,” said Terry, with an ugly laugh. “You’re getting deeply in my debt, and you’ll have to pay, or I shall have to pay you.”
“Oh, lor’,” cried the little middy, diving under the table in mock alarm, and then slowly raising his head up on the other side, to peer at Terry. “What would become of me if I hadn’t a good banker.”
“Who’s your banker, Baby?” said Roylance, mockingly.
“Syd Belton there,” and there was a laugh.
Terry ground his teeth together, as he turned away and went on deck, followed by a roar of laughter.
“Look here, I say,” cried Syd, who bore his honours very mildly, “you shouldn’t tease Terry like that, Jenkins; he’ll serve you out for it some day.”