"Mustn't do it, miss. Skipper told me to look out for the young gentleman. You mustn't do anything to make Mr. Whippleton angry with you; he'll treat you bad if you do. He was uncommon ugly this mornin', and kicked me three times in the ribs to wake me, and then cussed me like I wan't no account."
I suspected that Peter had been sleeping off the fumes of whiskey when this ungentle treatment was bestowed upon him. Marian put her hand into my vest pocket and took out my knife. She opened it, and was about to find the rope that bound me, when the helmsman again interfered.
"Can't let you do it. Very sorry, but I can't. It would cost me all the rest of the ribs in my body, and three on 'em's broke now."
"Will you let this young man be abused in this manner, you wretch?" exclaimed Marian, whose gentle nature seemed to have assumed a new phase.
"I can't help it, miss; 'tain't my fault. Mr. Whippleton's very ugly this mornin'."
"You are a brute and a coward!" said she, reaching over me to the cords that bound my wrists.
"Gorrificious!" shouted the negro. "You mustn't do that."
Mr. Whippleton suddenly sprang to his feet, awakened by the cry of Peter. Rushing forward, he seized the arm of Marian, and dragged her away from me. As the negro had intimated, he certainly was uncommon ugly. His eyes were bloodshot, and his expression was savage.
"Let him alone," said he. "Let no one meddle with him."
"Mr. Whippleton, are you going to let him lie there in pain, with his hands tied behind him?"