The youth’s intentions were so obvious that I was about to order Joe to go below, as his slight figure seemed no match for the burly Archie, when a pleading look in the boy’s eyes restrained me.
Uncle Naboth and Ned Britton, who had been promenading the deck near, had noted the incident and now paused to see its outcome. Some of the sailors also were interested, from their distant posts, while my father stood on the bridge and looked at our little group with an amused smile lighting his rugged face.
Altogether it would not do to retreat in face of the coming fray, or to interfere with the logical outcome of Joe’s rash act. The Yankee boy’s face was white and set, and his soft whistle only rendered his bull-headed determination to exact revenge the more impressive.
Having rolled up his sleeves, doubled his great fists and swung his arms once or twice to ease his muscles, Archie advanced steadily upon poor Joe, who stood listlessly with his hands thrust in his coat pockets and his head and shoulders bent slightly forward, in his accustomed pose.
“That mouth-organ cost two dollars,” said Archie, grimly, “and you don’t look as if you’re worth two cents. So I’ll just take it out o’ your hide, my son, to teach you a lesson.”
With that he paused and swung his right fist upward, and Joe, roused to action at last, gave a sudden bound. My eye could scarcely follow him as he leapt at Archie, embracing him and clinging to his antagonist like a vise. To my astonishment, the bulky Yankee swung around, tottered and fell heavily upon his back, with Joe kneeling triumphant upon his breast.
We all gave an admiring cheer, for we could not help it, and at the sound Joe arose and stood in his place again, meekly as before.
Archie got up more slowly, feeling the back of his head, which had whacked against the deck. He made a sudden rush and a lunge with his fist that might have settled Joe had he not dodged and closed again on his adversary with the same lightning tactics he had at first employed. They fell in a heap, and although Archie tried to keep Joe hugged to his breast the latter slid away like an eel and a moment after was on his feet and had assumed his careless, waiting pose.
When the Yankee got up this time he was again softly whistling. Without a glance at his late antagonist he deliberately rolled down his sleeves, attached his cuffs and resumed his coat. Then he walked over to Joe and with a smile that showed more good nature than chagrin he held out his bulky hand.
“Shake, sonny,” said he. “You’re good stuff, and I forgive you everything. Let’s be chums, Joe. If I could have landed on your jaw I’d have mashed you like a turnip; but you wouldn’t let me, and so I’m bound to give in gracefully.”