On the following day Randy noticed that Peter Polk seemed unusually sour and thoughtful.
"Something has gone wrong with him, that is certain," thought our hero. "I wonder what it can be?"
He did his best to keep out of the way of the purser and succeeded until nightfall. But then, when he was carrying an extra heavy trunk, Peter Polk got in his way and made him stumble and drop the piece of baggage. The trunk was split open at one end and some of the contents fell on the deck. It was a lady's trunk, filled with feminine wearing apparel, and a good many passengers laughed.
"What do you mean by running into me, you blockhead!" cried the purser, in a loud voice. "Why don't you look where you are going!"
"It was not my fault," answered Randy, warmly, not liking the man's manner of address. "You made me drop that trunk."
"I did not. It was your own clumsiness."
"No, sir," said our hero, firmly; and a crowd began to collect.
"Don't dare to contradict me!" fumed the purser. "It was your fault, and the damage shall come out of your wages."
"Mr. Polk, it was not my fault and I shall not stand for the damage done."
"Ha! you defy me, eh, you cub! Go on about your work and I'll settle with you later."