“Well, you see, you’re big,” returned Huish; “’e knows you ’ave a gun in your pocket, and anybody can see with ’alf an eye that you ain’t the man to ‘esitate about usin’ it. So it’s no go with you, and never was; you’re out of the runnin’, Dyvis. But he won’t be afryde of me, I’m such a little ’un! I’m unarmed—no kid about that—and I’ll hold my ’ands up right enough.” He paused. “If I can manage to sneak up nearer to him as we talk,” he resumed, “you look out and back me up smart. If I don’t, we go aw’y again, and nothink to ’urt. See?”
The captain’s face was contorted by the frenzied effort to comprehend.
“No, I don’t see,” he cried; “I can’t see. What do you mean?”
“I mean to do for the beast!” cried Huish, in a burst of venomous triumph. “I’ll bring the ‘ulkin’ bully to grass. He’s ’ad his larks out of me; I’m goin’ to ’ave my lark out of ’im, and a good lark too!”
“What is it?” said the captain, almost in a whisper.
“Sure you want to know?” asked Huish.
Davis rose and took a turn in the house.
“Yes, I want to know,” he said at last with an effort.
“W’en your back’s at the wall, you do the best you can, don’t you?” began the clerk. “I s’y that, because I ’appen to know there’s a prejudice against it; it’s considered vulgar, awf’ly vulgar.” He unrolled the handkerchief and showed a four-ounce jar. “This ’ere’s vitriol, this is,” said he.
The captain stared upon him with a whitening face.