“Oh, no, he haven’t,” said the skipper. “Just you go and say Kyaptin ’Badiah P. Perks is here and wants to see him tew wunst.”
For answer Tom drew a long breath and puffed out a cloud of smoke at the skipper.
“Air yew a-going?” said the latter.
“No,” said Tom, “I air not. My young master don’t want you, nor your ship, nor anything else. You wouldn’t take the job when you could get it, so now it’s gone.”
The Yankee skipper turned of a warmer yellow, and there was a malignant gleam in his closely-set eyes as he thrust one hand into his pocket and drew it out directly.
“Here, I don’t want to quarrel along o’ you,” he said sharply. “Go and tell him I want him, and he must come.”
“Sha’n’t,” said Tom coolly. “Who are you ordering about? This here ain’t aboard ship.”
“It would be okkard fur yew, boy, if it weer board ship,” snarled the skipper, going close up and thrusting his ugly face almost in Tom’s. “Yew just do as I tell yew, my lad, ’fore it’s worse for yew. Guess I don’t want to quarrel.”
“And guess I don’t want to quarrel with you,” said Tom; “though I allus have felt as if I should like to whack a sailor.”
The man’s hand went to his pocket again, but in spite of his furious glances Tom did not for a moment quail, giving him back again look for look.