From their suspended bosn's chairs, Ned and old Tom watched the scene with some apprehensions. Ned was a shrewd enough reader of character to know that the affair could hardly end by Kennell's peaceably accepting Herc's apology; while old Tom knew Kennell's nature too well to entertain any doubt that the young seaman was in for a terrible trouncing.
"You—you—red-headed clod-hopper!" grated Kennell savagely through his mask of "war-paint," when he found his voice. Somehow, he looked so ludicrous, showing his teeth, like a snarling dog, through his panoply of pigment, that Herc, to save his life, could not have restrained himself from bursting into a hearty laugh.
"I—pardon me, Kennell; oh, ha! ha! ha! ha! I—I'm awfully sorry. Please accept my apologies. It was, ha, ha, ha, ha! an accident—really it was. Won't you forgive me?"
Herc held out his hand once more. As he did so, Ned shouted a sharp warning from above.
It came too late.
Kennell's mighty arm shot out with the speed of a piston-rod, and its impact, full on Herc's laughing face, carried the boy crashing against the side rails.
"Take that, you pup, as a starter!" hissed Kennell "and I'm not through with you yet, either. I'll keep after you two whelps till you slink out of the service."
Herc, half-stunned, clambered to his feet, and stood swaying for a moment, as if he were about to keel over altogether. He rapidly pulled himself together, however, and fixed a furious gaze on Kennell, who stood glaring at him with an upcurled lip and narrowed eyes.
Echoing the bellow that Kennell had let forth when the paint obscured his vision temporarily, Herc threw himself into a boxing attitude, and sprang straight for his opponent. It was the onslaught of a wild-cat on a bull.
"Take that, for tripping me overboard, you big coward," he snapped, as he aimed a terrific uppercut at the ship's bully.