CHAPTER IX
Time passed, and although Carstairs kept a good look out, he saw nothing of Sam, the gipsy; he bought a substantial ash walking stick which he kept constantly by him. On the night shift he tackled Bounce, the ex-sailor. "Can you fence?"
"Yes, sir, I'm very good at fencing."
Carstairs smiled, but he knew all the same that it was a simple statement of the truth without any affected modesty or blatant boasting. "I'll bring down a couple of sticks, and you can give me a little instruction if you will."
"I shall be very pleased, sir."
He had a manner all his own of making even this simple statement; it suggested an equality of manhood while admitting an inferiority of station; every word and action showed a confident, self-contained, self-respecting man.
So in the wee sma' hours of the morning, when everyone else was in bed, Carstairs and Bounce fenced with single sticks in a clear space in the engine room. They got very chummy over these contests. Carstairs had frequently had long yarns with Bounce before in the quietness of the night watch, but now as they smote each other good and hard (for they wore neither helmets, jackets, nor aprons) and Carstairs smiled and Bounce grinned like a merry imp, and occasionally apologized for an "extra stiff un," they seemed to draw very close together, so much so, that one night Carstairs told him the tale of Sam the gipsy.
Bounce shook his head seriously. "Gipsies is nasty blokes," he observed, pondering deeply. "Some good fighting men amongst 'em, too." He pondered again. "I should think now that a bit of boxing would be more useful to you than fencing. Or—have you got a pistol?"
"Yes, and a set of gloves. I'll bring them both down to-morrow."