"It's your turn to go," he said, with a lingering oath. "This here's my gal; she b'longs to me—an' so does any money she gits."
Instantly Philip was his old, assured self. That quality which was most characteristic of him, that curious mixture of much that was bitter and a little that was sweet, lighted his eyes and rang in his voice.
"Where do you come from?" he asked, smiling. "You look as if you got out of a trap-door, like the fairy in the play."
"None o' your business where I come from," said Bill. "The point is where I'll send you, if you ain't careful."
Mary, who did not like the looks of things, tried to interpose. She put the palms of her hands against the sailor's rough cheeks.
"Listen, Bill," she said, "this is an old friend of mine——"
"Likely!" grunted Bill.
"He is, though; ain't you?" Mary appealed, with a sidelong glance at Beekman.
"Certainly I am," said Philip.
Stevens lowered his fist, but his red eyes remained full of hate.