"All ready, sir," reported the bo'sun, who held a formidable-looking whip of plaited sennet, terminating in a triple leather thong.
"Give him a dozen to start with, Mr. Barnard," ordered Captain Cain. "We'll see how he likes that."
The bo'sun drew his fingers caressingly through the thongs, spat upon his palm after the manner of horny-handed sailor-men, and prepared to enjoy himself.
"Belay there!" exclaimed the captain. "Where's the other skulker? Bring him on deck."
"I am here!" announced Broadmayne, stepping forward from the wake of the conning-tower. "I don't suppose it's any use protesting——"
"It isn't," interrupted Captain Cain grimly.
The crew roared with merriment.
"Then I won't," continued the Sub. "But I will point out that you're exacting the penalty before trial. We haven't had a chance to defend ourselves. Now, Captain Cain, I'll make a sporting offer. I don't suppose you have boxing-gloves on board, so I'll challenge any man in the ship, yourself included, to a five-round contest with bare fists. If I win, then my friend goes unpunished. I don't ask for any favour on my own behalf. In any case, the hands will see a sight worth seeing."
"Good lad!" shouted one of the crew, and about half a dozen others applauded. The proposition appealed to their love of sport. They were ready to witness the comparatively tame spectacle of a man being flogged; but they vastly preferred to enjoy a fight with the gloves off.
"Silence!" roared the Captain.