s dance. His eyes literally blazed with fury as he
turned on his comrades.

"Go and be damned!" he shouted. "Go back to the ship and tell 'em to
count me out. I'll go to hell soon enough without getting hell here,
too. Don't worry about what'll become of me. I guess I'll be all right.
Anyhow, I'm not goin' back, do ye hear? If I was a coward, afraid to
call my soul my own, like you fellows, it'd be different. But I ain't!"

Shorty flushed up. He had been a champion light-weight boxer before
things went wrong and he took to the sea, and he resented this
reflection on his personal courage. He had not yet had an encounter with
Armitage, but he knew enough of the science of self-defense not to be as
much intimidated by the big fellow as were the rest of his shipmates.
Advancing spunkily, he retorted:

"No man ever yet called me a coward, 'Handsome,' an' I ain't goin' to
take it from you. If it comes to a showdown, the coward's the chap as
deserts 'is ship, not the chap as stands by 'is signed articles."

Armitage sprang to his feet, his six feet of athletic masculinity
towering above them all.

"Clear out! Clear out!" he shouted, wildly waving his arms. "Clear out
before I kill one of you!"

Bill and "Dutch" obeyed with almost ludicrous alacrity, and retreated
into the outer shop, but Shorty pluckily stood his ground. Before
Armitage could lay hands on him, the cockney closed to the attack, a
sinewy arm shot out like a flash, and there was a thundering smack as
the blow went home on Armitage's jaw.

For a brief moment the athlete staggered, but more from sheer surprise
than anything else. Then, with a volley of fierce expletives, he made a
savage rush at his adversary. The men clinched, arms and legs whirled
around in a cyclone of dust, tables and chairs were sent crashing to all
corners of the room. It was all over in a minute. By the time Schmalz,
terrified by the noise of the fracas, ran in to see what was the matter,
Shorty was lying on his back on the floor, bleeding profusely from the
nose.

While Bill and "Dutch" helped the worsted ex-champion to a chair,
Armitage coolly readjusted the rest of the scattered furniture, and,
resuming his seat at the table, bellowed at Schmalz, who stood,
open-mouthed:

"Don't stand grinning there, you blamed fool! Let's have some more
whiskey. This scrapping makes one thirsty."

Schmalz hesitated. He stood in no little fear of his burly customer. On
the other hand, it was