[CHAPTER XII.]
A BULLY GETS A LESSON.
For a moment the big form of the paint-covered bully swayed about blindly and helplessly. Then, dashing the paint from his eyes, he emitted a roar like that of a stricken bull.
Jackies at work near at hand, who had seen the accident, gazed at Herc, who had by this time slid to the deck—in a sort of pitying way. They knew Kennell too well to suppose that he would let such an occurrence—even if it were an accident—pass by unrevenged.
"I'm sorry, Kennell; it was an accident," exclaimed Herc, one hand extended, and the other gathering up the loose end of his work-blouse; "here, let me wipe some of it off with this."
He stepped forward, with the intention of doing all he could to repair the damage he had unwittingly caused, but Kennell, with an angry sweep of his arm, waved him furiously back. To increase the bully's rage, some of the men near at hand began to laugh.
"My! what a lovely complexion the kid has when he's all rouged up!" laughed one.
"Kennell's got his battle-paint on," jeered another.
It was easy to see that none of the men particularly regretted the accident to the bully, whom none of them had any particular reason to love.