"You ain't worth smashin'," Sullivan snarled, and turned away.
"Well, what d'yer know about that!" the new stoker cried.
"It's that way all the time," he was answered; "there ain't a trip Dan don't ball the Mouse out to a fare-you-well; but he never lays hand to 'im. None of us knows why."
"You don't? Well, I do. The big slob's yeller, an' I'll show 'im up." The stoker crossed to Sullivan. "See here, Bo, why don't you take on a man your size?" He thrust his face close to Dan's and shouted the answer to his question: "I'll tell you why. You ain't got sand enough."
Dan's teeth snapped closed, then parted to grin at his challenger.
"Do you think you're big enough?" The joy of battle was in his growl.
"Yes, I do." The man put up his hands.
Instantly Dan's left broke down the guard; his right fist landed squarely on the stoker's jaw, sending him reeling to the bunker wall, where he fell. It was a clean knock-out.
"Go douse your friend with a pail of water, Mouse." Dan, still grinning, picked up his shovel and went to work.
When Neville's watch went off duty, Larry found the sea no rougher than on countless other runs he had made along the Atlantic coast. The wind had freshened to a strong gale, but he reached the forecastle with no great difficulty.