“‘Go easy, mate,’ whispers Tom; ‘you don’t know who you’re talking to.’
“‘Bosh,’ ses Joe, ‘he’s no good. He’s too fat and too silly to do any ’arm. He sha’n’t ’urt you while I’m ’ere.’
“He just rolled out of ’is bunk and, standing in front of Bill, put ’is fists up at ’im and stared ’im straight in the eye.
“‘You touch that man,’ he ses, quietly, pointing to Tom, ‘and I’ll give you such a dressing-down as you’ve never ’ad afore. Mark my words, now.’
“‘I wasn’t going to ’it him,’ ses Bill, in a strange, mild voice.
“‘You’d better not,’ ses the young ’un, shaking his fist at ’im; ‘you’d better not, my lad. If there’s any fighting to be done in this fo’c’s’le I’ll do it. Mind that.’
“It’s no good me saying we was staggered; becos staggered ain’t no word for it. To see Bill put ’is hands in ’is pockets and try and whistle, and then sit down on a locker and scratch ’is head, was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Presently ’e begins to sing under his breath.
“‘Stop that ’umming,’ ses Joe; ‘when I want you to ’um, I’ll tell you.’
“Bill left off ’umming, and then he gives a little cough behind the back of ’is ’and, and, arter fidgeting about a bit with ’is feet, went up on deck again.
“‘Strewth,’ ses Tom, looking round at us, ‘’ave we shipped a bloomin’ prize-fighter?’