tins every blessed day? 'Ow often 'ave I
'eard you send the 'ole bloomin' dinner off and tell the man to chuck it
in the swill tub? And breakfast? Oh, my crikey! breakfast for ten, and
you 'ollerin' for more! And now you "can't 'most tell"! Blow me, if it
ain't enough to make a man write an insultin' letter to Gawd! You dror
it mild, John Dyvis; don't 'andle me; I'm dyngerous.'

Davis sat like one bemused; it might even have been doubted if he heard,
but the voice of the clerk rang about the cabin like that of a cormorant
among the ledges of the cliff.

'That will do, Huish,' said Herrick.

'Oh, so you tyke his part, do you? you stuck-up sneerin' snob! Tyke it
then. Come on, the pair of you. But as for John Dyvis, let him look out!
He struck me the first night aboard, and I never took a blow yet but
wot I gave as good. Let him knuckle down on his marrow bones and beg my
pardon. That's my last word.'

'I stand by the Captain,' said Herrick. 'That makes us two to one, both
good men; and the crew will all follow me. I hope I shall die very soon;
but I have not the least objection to killing you before I go. I should
prefer it so; I should do it with no more remorse than winking. Take
care--take care, you little cad!'

The animosity with which these words were uttered was so marked in
itself, and so remarkable in the man who uttered them that Huish stared,
and even the humiliated Davis reared up his head and gazed at his
defender. As for Herrick, the successive agitations and disappointments
of the day had left him wholly reckless; he was conscious of a pleasant
glow, an agreeable excitement; his head seemed empty, his eyeballs
burned as he turned them, his throat was dry as a biscuit; the least
dangerous man by nature, except in so far as the weak are always
dangerous, at that moment he was ready to slay or to be slain with equal
unconcern.

Here at least was the gage thrown down, and battle offered; he who
should speak next would bring the matter to an issue there and then; all
knew it to be so and hung back; and for many seconds by the cabin clock,
the trio sat motionless and silent.

Then came an interruption, welcome as the flowers in May.

'Land ho!' sang out a voice on deck. 'Land a weatha bow!'

'Land!' cried Davis, springing to his feet. 'What's this? There ain't no
land here.'

And as men may run from the chamber of a murdered corpse, the three ran
forth out of the house and left their quarrel behind