“Now you walk straight,” said the captain, clutching him, “or I’ll know why not!”
“’S lose my ciga’,” replied Huish.
The captain’s contained fury blazed up for a moment. He twisted Huish round, grasped him by the neck of the coat, ran him in front of him to the pier-end, and flung him savagely forward on his face.
“Look for your cigar then, you swine!” said he, and blew his boat-call till the pea in it ceased to rattle.
An immediate activity responded on board the Farallone; far-away voices, and soon the sound of oars, floated along the surface of the lagoon; and at the same time, from nearer hand, Herrick aroused himself and strolled languidly up. He bent over the insignificant figure of Huish, where it grovelled, apparently insensible, at the base of the figure-head.
“Dead?” he asked.
“No, he’s not dead,” said Davis.
“And Attwater?” asked Herrick.
“Now you just shut your head!” replied Davis. “You can do that, I fancy, and by God, I’ll show you how! I’ll stand no more of your drivel.”
They waited accordingly in silence till the boat bumped on the farthest piers; then raised Huish, head and heels, carried him down the gangway, and flung him summarily in the bottom. On the way out he was heard murmuring of the loss of his cigar; and after he had been handed up the side like baggage, and cast down in the alleyway to slumber, his last audible expression was: “Splen’l fl’ Attwa’!” This the expert construed into “Splendid fellow, Attwater”; with so much innocence had this great spirit issued from the adventures of the evening.