“And why are we out on Lake Erie instead of being berthed in Detroit? That’s their fault, too! The skipper didn’t want to make for Buffalo so soon. But he had to. With a couple of firebugs like them aboard, he said he couldn’t take any chances!”
The big man named Dick let out a low growl.
“How about Perkins, Dick?” the mate added, deliberately attempting to goad the big man into a rage. “Perkins was your friend, wasn’t he, Dick? And now he’s on the bottom of Lake Erie, washed over the side in a storm we never should have been in! All because of a couple of dirty brats who haven’t shaved yet!”
The big man shook his head. He got to his feet and gazed down at the mate. He clenched and unclenched his hamlike hands and another deep growl rumbled from his chest.
“What are you going to do, Dick?” his friend Bogert asked. The little man was slightly nervous.
“I’m gonna pay ’em back,” the big man said slowly. He blinked his eyes stupidly. “I’ve been starvin’ and I lost my best friend and I almost got washed overboard myself and it’s all on account of them kids. I’m gonna pay ’em back, Bogert.” He turned to the mate and growled, “Where are they?”
But he needn’t have asked.
At that moment, Sandy Steele walked down the hall with a bucket. He needed more water to freshen his friend’s bandages.
“There he is!” the mate shouted. “There’s the wise one—the one that called me a liar!”
The big man whirled and pounced. Before Sandy knew what was happening, he had been grasped by the collar and spun around. There was not even time to struggle. The big man held him firmly in that left hand and drew back his big right fist for a smashing blow.