"I'll give you a lesson you won't forget, boy!"
"Do that!" Ramsay tensed, awaiting the anticipated attack of the bigger, heavier man. He felt almost a grim pleasure. He had learned his fighting the hard way, as anybody brought up on the New York water-front, and with an irresponsible father had to learn it. The man who faced him was heavier by a good sixty pounds, but he was a bull of a man and, probably, he would fight like a bull. Would he know about matadors?
The man's eyes were narrowed to pinpoints, and they seemed to spark. Sheer rage made his face livid, while his lips were distorted in a snarl. He drew back, readying himself for the spring that would overwhelm this brash youth who had dared dispute him. Ramsay poised on lithe feet, prepared to side-step.
Then fat, fussy little Captain Schultz, skipper of the Holter, stepped between them. He wheezed like an over-fat lap-dog, "Vot you doin'?"
"I want them hides loaded and the ship under way!" the man who faced Ramsay snarled.
"Ach! Dis man payin' passenger!"
A deck hand, his eyes downcast, hurried past. The man who had ordered Ramsay to get to work stood still for a moment, glaring. Then, furiously, soundlessly, he turned on his heel and strode up the gangplank to the pier. Ramsay watched him go, and he knew that, even if there had not been unpleasantness between them, he could never like this man. No matter where they met, or how, they would never get along together.
Captain Schultz also turned to watch the man depart. Then he gave his attention to Ramsay.
"Ach! You should be careful 'pout startin' fights, poy."
"So should other people!" Ramsay said, still smarting.