"In the name of Davy Jones, what is this?" he said. "What are you doing in my room?"
"It's a drunken sailor-man," said the larger one, holding one of the candles over his head. "Kick him out where he belongs. They're getting too high and mighty, anyhow."
The Captain, seeing my bundle lying on the floor, sent it flying through the open doorway down the hall, and the other man, with a stroke of his foot, swept up the rest of my belongings.
"Get out of this, you swab!" said the Captain, "or I'll keelhaul you well. No chin music, now! Come, get out!"
I was mighty angry by this time.
"I'm no swab or no drunken sailor, I'll have you understand," I replied; "and this is my room, and I paid for it."
The Captain muttered a curse and the other man commenced to grin.
"I'll spit you like a goose!" the former roared. "How dare you talk to me like that!"
He drew his sword and made one or two passes at me. Of course I do not suppose it was his real intention to inflict an injury, but the point came dangerously close to my throat. I had drawn the covers to my chin.
"Don't kill him, Captain; don't kill him," snickered the big one.