“There!” he exclaimed, suddenly stumbling with his whole might against Jacob, so as very nearly to hurl him into the sea. Indeed, had not the captain, who was on the watch, sprung forward and caught hold of him, he must have inevitably gone overboard.
“You scoundrel!” shouted the captain, seizing Juniper by the collar, and sending him spinning down the ladder on to the deck below, where he lay half stunned for a few moments.
“I’m up to your tricks, my man,” he added, as Juniper limped off to his cabin, vowing vengeance.
“What’s amiss, captain?” asked Frank, in great astonishment. “What’s poor Juniper been doing? No great harm in fancying he saw a whale, even supposing he was mistaken.”
“Mr Oldfield,” said the captain, sorrowfully, “you don’t know that fellow. If ever there was a serpent in a human body, there’s one in that man of yours. Bear with me, my dear sir, if I offer you an earnest word or two of caution. I can see that you are not the man you were when we crossed the seas together before. We had a very happy voyage then, and you remember how strong and settled you were on the subject of total abstinence. Is it so now? Ah! don’t let that wretched fellow take all that’s good and noble out of you. He don’t care a straw for you nor for any one but himself; I’m quite certain. He has mischief in his eye, and there’s a black heart under that smooth tongue—if I know anything of what a rogue’s like, and I’ve boarded many that have been sailing under false colours in my day. You must excuse my speaking so warmly and plainly, Mr Oldfield; but I really cannot bear to see you running on to the reefs without giving you a word of warning.”
“Thank you—thank you, captain,” said Frank. “I know you mean kindly, but I still think you’re hard upon Juniper. I believe he’s a faithful fellow, with all his faults; and he isn’t without them, I’ll allow. But he’s sincerely attached to me, I believe, and that makes up for a good deal.”
“Attached to you, Mr Oldfield! don’t think it! He’s only making a tool of you—he’ll just get all he can out of you, and then he’ll scuttle you, and leave you to sink.”
“I can’t think it, I cannot indeed,” was Frank’s reply; “there’s an old proverb about giving a dog a bad name. He’s no friend of yours, I know, nor of Jacob Poole’s either, and I’m sorry for it.”
“And is he really acting a friend’s part by you, Mr Oldfield?” asked the other. Frank coloured, and evaded the question.
“At any rate, Jacob has no real cause to be at such daggers-drawn with him,” he said.