“What do you mean?” he stammered. “I don’t know what the little fool is talking about.”
“You tell lie,” broke in Trolley, hotly. “You try do something to that boy. You beat him.”
“Worse than that,” added Joy, equally angry. “Look at the poor kid’s face. I’ll bet anything Greene tried to throw him off the spar to make more room for his own worthless carcass.”
Judson maintained a sullen silence. Clif fell to soothing Nanny and soon had him more composed.
When the youngster at last realized the truth, and saw that he was surrounded by friends, and one of those friends Clif Faraday, he cried for very joy.
“Oh, Clif, I can’t believe it’s true,” he sobbed. “It must be a dream, and I will wake up and—and——”
“And you will find that it’s the finest dream you ever had, youngster,” laughed Clif, cheerily. “You are all right, Nanny,” he added. “You haven’t gone to Davy Jones’ locker yet. But tell us how you happened to get on that spar, you and Greene.”
Nanny glanced at Judson and shuddered. The latter slyly threatened him with his clinched right fist, but the action did not escape Faraday’s eye.
Pouncing upon Greene he grasped him by the collar and jerked him to his feet. Then forcing him against the gunwale he cried, savagely: