"Sure, make 'im walk a plank!"
"Son of a shark!"
"Man-killin' crimp!"
The whole crew came lurching around toward Madden, filled with the wordy
anger of intoxicated men.
The American arose to his feet with little emotion save a return of his
old disgust. He knew he could defend himself from any assault the crew
might make in that condition. But they made none. They stopped a little
way from him, some drunkenly grave, others winking or leering, some
abusive and threatening.
"Go'n' tuh 'lect 'nother captain," announced Mulcher thickly. "You no
reg'lar hofficer!"
"You 'it a man for 'elpin' you, and 'urt 'is eye!"
"Make 'im walk a plank!" flared out Galton, shaking a big fist at
Leonard. "Make 'im walk a plank!" Leonard observed that the fellow's
nose and forehead were badly bruised, and dark circles had settled under
his eyes. He started for Madden, when Hogan caught him under the arms.
"Phwat you talkin' about, old scout? Walk a plank--you have to court
martial him first."
"I don't b'lieve 'e can walk a plank," surmised a cockney gravely.
"'E's too drunk; 'e'd fall hoff."
"Where's Farnol Greer, Mulcher?" snapped Madden disgustedly. "Is he
drunk, too?"
"D-drunk--you don't think we're drunk, sor?"
"We 'ave been drinkin' a little, sor, but we're not drunk.
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