Clinton was evidently alarmed at the suggestion.
“Yes, of course,” he said, nervously; “that is, I would have gone down to see you on the sly. You wouldn’t expect me to fight the captain, don’t you know.”
Harry could hardly refrain from smiling at the idea of the spindle-shaped dude resisting the captain; but he kept a straight face as he answered:
“I look upon you as a brave man, Mr. Clinton. When I get into trouble, I shall be sure to call upon you.”
“Oh, certainly,” stammered Clinton. “But I say, Mr. Vane, I hope you’ll be prudent; I do, really. Captain Hill might shoot you, you know, as he tried to shoot the sailor boy just now.”
“If he does, Mr. Clinton, I shall expect you to interfere, You are not as strong as the captain, but a bold front will go a great way. If you threaten to—to horsewhip him, I think it might produce an effect upon him.”
“Really, my dear Mr. Vane,” said Clinton, turning pale, “I don’t think I could go as far as that.”
“I thought you were my friend, Mr. Clinton,” said Harry, reproachfully.
“So I am, but I think you are, too—too bloodthirsty, Mr. Vane. It is best to be prudent, don’t you know. There’s that Yankee, Mr. Stubbs; he would do a great deal better than I. He’s stronger, and older, and—you’d better speak to him, don’t you know.”
“A very good suggestion, Mr. Clinton,” said Harry.