The voices were low but distinct.
"Now leave me alone!" It was Bill Hayden who spoke. "I ain't never troubled
you."
"Ah, so you ain't troubled me, have you, you whimpering old dog?"
"No, I ain't troubled you."
"Oh, no! You was so glad to let me take your nice dry boots, you was, when
mine was filled with water."
The slow, mild, ostensibly patient voice could be none other than
Kipping's.
"I had to wear 'em myself."
"Oh, had to wear 'em yourself, did you?"
"Let go o' my arm!"
"So?"
"Let go, I tell you; let go or I'll--I swear I'll hammer you good."
"Oh, you'll hammer me good, will you?"
"Let go!"
There was a sudden scuffle, then out from the corner of the deck-house
danced Kipping with both hands pressed over his jaw.
"You bloody scoundrel!" he snarled, meek no longer. "You wait--I'll get
you. I'll--" Seeing me sitting there with my bit of rope, he stopped short;
then, with a sneer, he walked away.
Amazed at the sudden departure of his tormentor, Bill Hayden stuck his own
head round the corner and in turn discovered me in my unintentional
hiding-place.
Bill, however, instead of departing in chagrin, joined me with a puzzled
expression on his kind, stupid face.
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