I had myself been considerably annoyed by the wretched music, so I obeyed so far as to stroll over to our passenger and ask him to kindly discontinue his performance.
He looked up resentfully.
“This is the passenger’s deck, ain’t it?” he demanded.
“We have no passenger’s deck; but we allow you to sit here,” I replied.
“Then leave me alone, and mind your own business,” he retorted. “I’m a free born American citizen, and I’ve paid my passage and can do as I please.”
“But you can’t annoy everybody with that beastly music while you’re aboard the Seagull,” I answered, rather nettled at his attitude. “We also have rights, sir, and they must be considered.”
“I’ve paid for mine,” he said. “You get out, Sam Steele. I know what I’m doing,” and he commenced to play again.
I looked at him reflectively. Just how to handle such a situation puzzled me. But Joe stood just behind and had heard all. With a bound of amazing quickness he was upon the unprepared Archie, seized the mouth-organ from his grasp and flung the instrument of torture far over the side.
“Beg your pardon, sir, I’m sure,” he said, with a grin.
Archie whistled softly and looked his assailant over. He rose slowly from his chair and, still whistling, began to unbutton his coat and take it off. He folded it neatly, laid it in the chair, removed his linen cuffs and placed them beside his coat, and proceeded deliberately to roll up his sleeves.