So he turned away happy in the thought of some day retrieving his defeat, and Juan, very much puzzled over it all, watched him walk away and murmured to himself:
“He hates me now; but maybe he’ll like me after we have had a fair fight and one of us is whipped.”
Chapter XIV.
The slight breeze that filled the sails of the fleet on leaving Gomera had died away during the night into a dead calm; so that when Juan and Diego came on deck in the morning they saw the islands still within a short distance of them.
Diego leaned over the rail and pretended to look at the green shores, while in fact he was uneasily watching Juan. And Juan, while pretending to be quite easy in his mind, was, in truth, as far as possible from that state. At one moment he blamed Diego for the singular scruples about fighting that had forced him into so uncomfortable a position, and the next moment he was upbraiding himself for his lack of courage in not going at once to Martin Alonzo, who was pacing the poop in a most inviting way.
There is no saying how long he might have gone on worrying himself in this fashion had not Martin Alonzo, perhaps in default of anything else to do, beckoned him to come up. Juan took a deep breath and went. Diego drew a deep breath also, and watched the two out of the corner of his eye. Miguel watched too.
“So,” said Martin Alonzo, eying Juan with no great favor, “you and Diego beguiled the time yesterday by fighting. And I had forbidden it.”
“You had forbidden it on board ship,” answered Juan.