Trolley’s remarks were laughed at, then after a period of bantering, Clif proceeded to more serious work.
“We are not going to give an entertainment with the ease of an eastern and peaceful city,” he said, glancing aft at Ferguson, who was in the center of an animated group of third class men. “We will find our lines laid out in troublous places, let me tell you. I prophecy that an earthquake will strike this ship around Saturday night.”
“Hurray!” exclaimed the irrepressible Jap. “Me like earthquakes. That is the way we settle our coffee in Japan every morning. He! he!”
“Trolley,” said Joy, eying him sadly, “it is time for you to go home. When a foreigner begins to crack bad jokes he should be given his passports. As we haven’t any such papers on board, I’ll try my best to teach you the error of your ways.”
While speaking he had edged slyly toward the Japanese youth. With the last word he made a spring for him, but Trolley slipped under his arm and dashed across the forecastle.
Standing near the railing were Judson Greene and Chris Spendly.
Into the former ran Trolley, the shock sending him reeling against the rail. As Judson grasped at the empty air to steady himself, his cap fell overboard and was carried astern.
Greene was not a very pleasant-looking youth, despite his rather handsome face, and now he seemed positively ferocious with rage.
“What do you mean, you yellow nigger?” he howled, making a pass at Trolley. “How dare you ran into me like that? I’ll give you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry.”
But he didn’t. The blow he aimed at the Japanese youth inflicted no damage. Trolley caught the extended arm by the wrist, and with apparently little effort, held it in midair.