“Hold hard there, my lads. Bosun Jones has been down to the others, and he says these here may stop where they are.”
“What for?”
“Oh, one o’ the four chaps we brought in last night’s half wild, and been running amuck. Come on down.”
“Yah!” growled the sinister sailor, scowling at Jem, as if there were some old enmity between them.
“I say, don’t,” said Jem mockingly. “You’ll spoil your good looks. Say, does he always look as handsome as that?”
The man doubled his fist, and made a sharp blow at Jem, and seemed surprised at the result; for Jem dodged, and retorted, planting his fist in the fellow’s chest, and sending him staggering back.
The man’s eyes blazed as he recovered himself, and rushed at Jem like a bull-dog.
Obeying his first impulse, Don, who had never struck a blow in anger since he left school, forgot fair play for the moment, and doubled his fists to help Jem.
“No, no, Mas’ Don; I can tackle him,” cried Jem; “and I feel as if I should like to now.”
But there was to be no encounter, for a couple of the other sailors seized their messmate, and forced him to the trap-door, growling and threatening all manner of evil to the sturdy little prisoner, who was standing on his defence.