'Well! What would you do?'
'Why, I'd—retire to my cabin.'
'All right then, I think we understand each other.'
So Dalston was installed, and now dined forward. He became a favourite with his messmates. No one could tell a more thrilling and adventuresome yarn than Dalston, no one could sing a better song than himself or join more heartily in the chorus when another sang, and no one could work more cheerily on deck, or fly more quickly to tack a sheet.
Smyth had been the big man in the forecastle before Dalston's day. But Smyth was eclipsed now, and I dare say did not like his rival. One day, near the quarter-deck, Smyth called Dalston an ugly name. Dalston's answer was a blow which sent the fellow reeling to leeward, where he lay stunned.
'Have you killed him, Dalston?' said the captain.
'Not quite, sir; but I could have.'
'Well, Dalston, you are working for two men now; don't let us lose another hand, else you'll have to work for three.'
Dalston laughed.
Smyth gathered himself up and slunk away, but his look was one Dalston would have cause to remember.