“Guess it ’ll be the worse for yew, stranger,” said the skipper, “if you don’t go and fetch out that theer fellow o’ yourn.”
“Guess it ’ll be the worse for you, skipper, if you get shoving that sharp nose o’ yours in my face,” said Tom. “You ain’t skretched me with it yet, but if you do, ware hawk!”
The man’s face was a study. He wanted evidently to seize Tom and thrust him aside, but there was something so solid and muscular about Tom’s body, and something so hard and bull-like about Tom’s head, that few people would have cared to tackle him; and certainly, seeing how determined he was, the skipper did not feel disposed.
“Here, hi! you Englisher,” shouted the fellow, “come out. I want a word with you.”
“I say, don’t make that row front of our house,” said Tom. “There’s ladies here; and if you do it again I shall have to do what they does at home with noisy people—move you on.”
The skipper made a menacing movement towards Tom, and I was ready to go to his assistance, but Tom did not stir, only clenched his hand slowly in so ominous a manner that the skipper went no farther, but turned and advanced to his companion, before again approaching my faithful companion.
“Now, look ye here, mister,” said the skipper. “I don’t want to hurt you, so just you either get out o’ the way or fetch your boss.”
“If you don’t get out,” said Tom slowly, “I shall have to make you. Mas’r Harry don’t want no trade with you at all, so s’pose you be off while your shoes are good.”
“I will be off,” said the skipper with a snarl, “and bring them here as will open some of your eyes a bit, and them chesties too.”
Then saying something in a whisper to his companion they both hurried off, and for the rest of the day, in spite of the aspect I carried before those in the house, I was in no little trepidation.