He stuck his chin out at me and his voice was the essence of contempt as he taunted:
“ ’Tain’t my fault if you force yourself into a strip poker game on just a pair of pants. What are you goin’ to do?”
I don’t know just what I would have done. Probably I would have taken off the overalls rather than fail to live up to the code of a true sailor, but Fred Nelson intervened.
“Skipper is a girl,” he said, “and she don’t take off nothin’.”
“I’d ’a’ give her my drawers if I’d lost,” protested Swede.
“All right, I’ll give you my pants,” snapped Nelson.
“It’s her pants I won!”
Nelson jumped to his feet.
“Do you take my pants or a punch in the guzzler?” he asked, very quiet, for that was the way he always was when he fought. He could whip any man on the ship except Father and they all knew it. Swede looked up at him and grinned.
“Gimme your pants, Nelson.”