Sargent met his look squarely. "Yes, I was in it. A street fight! I knocked Lemuel Jervais down!"
"You! Lemuel Jervais—Oh!" And the Captain could restrain himself no longer. He dropped into a chair, the whole of his great frame shaking with loud gusts of laughter, while the tears gushed forth and rolled down his furrowed cheeks. "On my honour—it's too good to believe," he cried breathlessly. "You and Lem Jervais in a street fight. And when you were on that boat with me I thought you were as harmless as a kitten. Gee Whillikens!" and he let out a long whistle, "but you are a promising youngster—after all. Easy, now. Don't blaze your eyes at me that way. I wasn't the cause of it. When you get cooled down a-plenty, tell me about it. Ugh, but you are huffy about it!" as Sargent remained impervious to his humour. "You know what I do when I get that upset? I just lock myself up in my cabin where nobody can get to me and I can get to nobody, and I cuss everybody and everything that I can get my mind on—you ought to hear me! I can cuss like a beauty when I get warmed up to my subject, and will you believe me, sir, when I come out I'm as cool as a cucumber. Honest Injun, I am—just like a May morning. Want to try it? I'll give you the room to yourself. Well—if you won't, maybe telling me about it will help you let off a little steam. Now—how d' it start?"
Sargent raised his head at the last question, and looked into the twinkling grey eyes before him. When he spoke, his voice was sharp and unsteady.
"He was drunk and laughed at me—laughed at my deformity! He said it would be a joke for me to plead any case before the bar. I, a Yankee school-teacher—a crippled one at that!"
The Captain was out of his chair and before Sargent in a second. The twinkle had gone out of his eyes. They were steely now.
"The damned scoundrel! And you?"
"I knocked him down."
"Before the whole crowd? Good! Then?"
"He challenged me."
The old fellow's face brightened.