With an exclamation of "Those dreadful children!" the elder lady extricated herself from her rug and hurried aft. Nora followed. Evidently there had been a quarrel of some sort. The purser and the deck-steward were each holding a boy.
The steward's captive, a handsome, flushed, black-haired lad of thirteen, was kicking and pushing and making violent efforts to wiggle out between the steward's legs. The other lad stood perfectly quiet. He was taller than the dark boy and might have been two years older, but he was of a much slighter build. His fair hair was disordered, his nose bleeding, and his collar torn. Looking up into the purser's face, he said in a low tone, "Please let us fight it out. He'll bully me again, if you don't!"
At this the dark boy stopped in his violent attacks on the steward's legs and said, breathlessly: "Well, you ain't such a milksop after all, Ned!"
"No, no," said the purser; "no fighting on the Gallia. You two young gentlemen must promise to let each other alone while you are on shipboard or"—
"O, promise, Ned," the dark boy interrupted, "we can have it out onshore, you know! Say, I promise, let me go."
"I promise, too, then," said the fair boy.
"Mind you both remember," said the purser, releasing his captive; and turning to Mrs. Morris: "No harm done yet ma'am."
Both boys recognized their aunt; they had been too busy with each other before to look about. They stood silently by, Oscar grinning and Edmund frowning, while she apologized for their conduct. Then she turned to them and led them to an impromptu court of justice behind the wheel-house. The proceedings were brief. Oscar told his story. As usual, he related a perfectly plain, uncolored tale, making no excuse for himself.
"We were up on deck, Aunt Nellie and Aunt Nora, and Ned was reading and us boys wanted him to play shovel-board and he wouldn't; so just for fun, I tried to show the boys—while he was reading, you know—how near I could come to hitting his cap, and not hit it; and I made a mistake and hit it and just then the wind blowed and it went overboard, and the boys laughed and he jumped up and said, 'Who knocked my hat off?' and I said it was me, and he said he wasn't going to take any more bullying from me and up and hit me in the face and then I hit him back. I told him I was only fooling, but he didn't mind and kept on getting madder and hitting till I got mad too and—that's how it happened. But I didn't mean to knock his hat off, and I'll fight him all he wants on shore."
"I didn't know he was fooling," said Edmund, "and Aunt Nellie, it isn't just this time; I don't mind once; but it's all the time and—and I truly can't bear it!" The boy's pale face flushed as he spoke; his voice trembled over the last words and he turned his head away, winking his eyes hard. Oscar's own eyes grew round with amazement; it was all he could do to keep from whistling. He listened to his aunt's reproaches in silence, abstractedly sliding up and down a freshly tarred rope; and, at their close, when sentence was pronounced (keeping his high spirits below deck the rest of the day), he merely nodded his head and walked off saying: "All right, Aunt Nellie, that's fair enough, I am sure; I'll stay all right."