ho was huddled up crying
in a corner of the gunroom, Dick Popplethorne having been an old home
friend. "Don't make fun of the po-poor fellow now he's dead!"

"That's right, youngster," put in Mr Stormcock. "Stick up for your
friend. I didn't mean anything against him for a moment, for I always
found him a good sort of chap; though, I can't say I had very much to do
with him."

"Well, for my part, I won't say I'm sorry he has lost the number of his
mess," said that brute Andrews. "He was as big a bully as Larkyns, and
I don't owe him any good will, I can tell you."

"You cowardly cur!" exclaimed Tom Mills, his face flaming up, though the
tears were still coursing down his cheeks. "You know you wouldn't say
that if Larkyns were here now."

"Wouldn't I, cry babby?"

Tom did not reply to this in words; but he sent a telescope, that lay at
the end of one of the tables near him, flying across the gunroom,
catching Andrews a crack on his uplifted arm.

This saved his head, fortunately for him, Tom's shot being a vicious one
and well aimed!

"What do you mean by that?" said the ill-natured brute. "Do you want to
fight?"

"Not with you," rejoined Tommy, whose anger had conquered his grief,
speaking with much dignity. "I only fight with gentlemen, and you're a
snob! No gentleman would speak ill of those unable to defend
themselves, or say a thing behind a fellow's back which he would not
have the pluck to do when he was present. Andrews, you're a cad and a
coward!"

"Stow that, youngster!" interposed Mr Stormcock, as little Tommy rose
up and made towards the cad, who, however, showed no inclination to
resent the insult offered him. "I won't allow any quarrelling in the
mess! If you want to fight, my boys, you must go into the steerage."

Andrews, I noticed, did not offer to stir, however, in response to this
suggestion of the master's mate, which he would certainly have done if
he had been possessed of an ounce of courage in his nature.

Tom and I both agreed on this when talking over the matter subsequently;
so, seeing what a chicken-hearted fellow he was, my _cocky_ little chum
sat down again and began tucking into his tea, Andrews getting up
presently and sneaking away when he thought the coast clear.

Mr Stormcock proved to be a false prophet with regard to the foul
weather that evening; for, when I went up on deck again to have a look
round before turning in, although it was still blowing fresh from