"I'll get even with you, you durned Britisher," snarled the card-sharper, as soon as he was released, his anger overcoming his caution.
"Give me lip, will ye?" roared the bosun. "Threaten me, would ye?"
Again he seized upon Studpoker Bob, and this time did not desist from his chastening until the man dropped to the deck, beaten to a jelly and hardly able to move.
At the wheel the cockney hopped up and down with excitement, straining his neck in his eagerness to see the gambler get his hammering, and a grim smile of amusement came into Old Man Riley's keen visage, as he watched the performance with the eye of an expert from the poop rail.
Letting his victim lie where he dropped, the bosun turned to the pumps and called out, "Tune her up again, boys!" and presently came the welcome cry, "That'll do the pumps!" and the watch trooped forward.
Studpoker Bob, who had lain all this time groaning on the deck, made shift now to get to his legs, and made tracks for the foc's'le.
But the bosun was on to him again.
"Here, you there," he called, "go up an' overhaul them fore an' main t'gallant buntlines."
And up the man had to go.
It was now two bells, and Red Bill trudged slowly aft to relieve the cockney, as he owed him a wheel, and the second dog-watch being considered one of the worst wheels, the cockney had gladly consented to take an hour of that instead of the whole trick at any other time.