Lonny seized the wrist that held the gun, wrenched it away. It went skidding across the floor. Then he stuck out fiercely at the sardonic features so close to him. Raeburn rocked backward, flailing out with both hands, as Lonny came in again, both fists landing solidly. His antagonist spun backward, then fell helplessly to the decking. Baron Munchy was jumping up and down in ecstacy.
"Hit'm, Boss! Sock 'im again!" he piped, but Lonny picked up the gun, slipped it into his pocket, and shook his head in the negative.
"Hit'm, Boss. Sock 'im again!" Baron Munchy piped, jumping up and down in ecstacy. "Him all bad. Say Boss no good."
"There's to be no more fighting, Raeburn," he said. "I'll pick you off with the gun if you start anything. When we break the surface you can get your mud-shoes and go."
Four thousand feet. Three thousand. The mud-submarine was rising rapidly now, had passed the two thousand mark.
"You've really hurt the little fellow's feelings," said Lana Hilton, evading his eyes and gesturing toward Baron Munchy, who was beating his fists against the wall in sheer frustration. "He must have been praying for blood and thunder."
"I'll plaster 'im!" Munchy was squeaking. "I'll do him in!"