"Tell ye what, I hate that mate," said Jerry. "He's got a wicked eye,
and he drinks like a fish."
"I know he drinks," answered Tom. "I smelt the liquor in his breath."
They were now getting down into warmer latitudes and the next night
proved unusually hot. It was dark with no stars shining, and the air
was close, as if another storm was at hand.
"I can't sleep," said Tom, after rolling around in his berth for half
an hour. "I'm going on deck." And he dressed himself and went up for
some air. He walked forward and leaned over the rail, watching the
waves as they slipped behind the noble ship.
Tom's coming on deck had been noticed by Dan Baxter, who sat on the
side of the fore-castle, meditating on his troubles. As the bully
saw the youth leaning over the rail, his face took on a look of bitter
hatred.
"I'll teach him to laugh at me!" he muttered.
Gazing around he saw that nobody was within sight and then he arose
to his feet. With a cat-like tread he came up behind Tom, who still
looked at the waves, totally unconscious of danger.
Baxter's heart beat so loudly that he was afraid Tom would hear it.
Again he looked around. Not a soul was near, and the gloom of the
night was growing thicker.
"He'll laugh another way soon!" he muttered, and stepped closer.
His fist was raised to deliver a blow when Tom happened to straighten
up and look around. He saw the form behind him and the upraised arm
and leaped aside.
Pages:
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75