His stanch friend, Jack Staples, was close at hand. He sprang forward and grasped Professor Puffer by the throat, at the same time tearing Bernard from his grasp.
“You scoundrel!” ejaculated the indignant sailor.
“What are you’ about? Do you mean to murder the boy?”
Professor Puffer, who had thought himself quite unobserved, was as much startled as his victim had been, but he was shrewd and tricky.
He passed his hand to his forehead, as he fell back, and said, in a dazed tone: “What is the matter? Where am I?”
“Where are you?” retorted the incensed sailor. “If you were where you ought, to be, you would now be on the gallows.”
“What do you mean by your insolence, you low sailor?” exclaimed Puffer.
“I mean that I have a great mind to treat you as you were treating the boy. You were about to murder him, you scoundrel!”
“There is some mistake,” said Puffer. “I—I had a severe headache, and I was out of my head. I must have been walking in my sleep. What was I doing?”
“You were trying to throw the boy into the sea. You know that well enough.”