Part 24 (1/2)

The man went down flat on his face, and Sam likewise tripped over the handle of the deck swab, plunging headlong on the fallen man.

There was instant commotion. Those of the crew who chanced to be standing about set up a roar of laughter.

”Look out, Bill. His head will set fire to your uniform,” shouted one of them.

Sam was struggling to his feet, very red in the face and very much ashamed of his clumsiness. He started forward to help the other man up, when the latter regained his feet with a bound. The man's face was b.l.o.o.d.y, a deep gash having appeared across his nose.

”Did the red-head do you up, Kester?” shouted several voices at once.

Bill Kester, in falling, had struck a sharp edge on the carriage of an eight-inch gun, and had sustained a painful wound. Besides this, his face was smeared with grease that it had collected in sc.r.a.ping along the carriage.

”Oh, I'm so sorry,” begged Sam.

Kester was mopping the blood and grime from his face, regardless of the fact that the sleeve with which he was performing the operation would not stand an inspection.

”It was an accident. Believe me, I could not help it. I was feeling sick and was hurrying to some place where I could lie down.”

The injured seaman did not answer at once.

”Is there anything I can do for you? May I get you some water?”

”Go soak his head under the scuttle b.u.t.t,” shouted another sailor.

It was quite plain that, for some reason, all hands seemed to enjoy Bill Kester's unexpected downfall, for no one expressed any sympathy for him, or regret at the accident. This Sam did not observe, however. He was too much concerned over the result of his carelessness. In fact he forgot, for the moment, that the deck was heaving under his feet and that everything movable about him was on the move.

”Hit him again, red-head!”

”I said it was an accident, and that I am very, very sorry. Did you understand?”

”You lie!”

Sam Hickey's face had been pale since the beginning of his recent internal disturbances. But the color now surged to his cheeks, mounting to the roots of his red hair, with which it merged.

”If you were not hurt, I'd make you take back those words. I don't allow any man to apply that term to me.”

”That's the talk. Hand him one for luck, anyway, red-head!”

”You lie!” This time it came out with such an accent that there was no misunderstanding. Bill Kester's intent was plainly to goad Sam into attacking him.

The Battles.h.i.+p Boy stood with tightly clenched fists at his side, his teeth grinding in his great effort to control himself. Something of this seemed to convey itself to the jackies who, up to this moment, had looked upon the little scene as a delightful diversion. They saw at once that the red-headed, freckle-faced boy before them was holding himself in check under circ.u.mstances that would have driven any one of them into a blind, uncontrollable rage.

”Coward!” shouted Kester.

At the same time he sprang forward, landing a resounding slap on Sam Hickey's cheek.

Smack!

The Battles.h.i.+p Boy's right fist shot out. Sam had gone the limit in self-control. He could endure no more.