"Ay, that it would."
Presently Antonio came on deck with a sullen air, half of defiance, half of humiliation, at his recent defeat. He smarted under the conviction, that henceforth his authority among the crew would be small. Hitherto he had been the champion and bully of the quarter-deck, and although the crew had no liking for him, but rather a decided feeling of an opposite nature, yet strength and prowess always command a certain rude respect among sailors, and that respect he enjoyed. But now all was changed. He had been beaten, and that in a fair fight, where all could see that no underhand means had been employed. Strength had been matched against strength, and he had come off second best. That had been a Waterloo day to him, and he knew that he returned to the deck no longer the same man so far as consideration went.
Bill Sturdy was a generous antagonist. He had no idea of indulging in exultation over his vanquished foe, but treated him as if nothing had happened.
But Antonio's resentment was deep and implacable. He thirsted for revenge, and determined to lull to sleep the suspicions of his late opponent, until some opportunity should present itself for an effectual and safe revenge.
Accordingly he suddenly recovered from his sullenness, and made some half advances towards Sturdy, which the latter met, but not without reserve.
"I can't kind o' feel as if the feller was to be trusted," said Bill to Charlie, one evening, as they were alone together. "There's something in his eye that I don't like; a sort of deceitful gleam, as if there was something covered up that he didn't like to show. For my part, I like to be fair and above board, and show just what I am."
"I'm sorry you have made an enemy of this man on my account," said Charlie.
"Avast, my lad, do you think I was going to stand still and let him abuse you? Thank heaven, old Bill Sturdy isn't such a lubber as that."
"But he may do you a mischief yet, Bill."