—bootlicker ordering me to stand watch!”
“It's your turn on the list!” commanded Madden brusquely, with ill-concealed disgust that Smith should be maudlin just when needed.
“My turn—Bah! I'd have been mate myself if I had toadied and flattered that upstart Malone as you did!” He laughed sarcastically. “Then I could have had decent dinners, been wearing the mate's sou'wester, been—”
“Cut it out!” snapped Madden. “Will you do your duty or not?”
The dock gave a great lurch that flattened both men against the door, juggled Caradoc in his berth and sent kit bag and demijohn sliding toward the visitors.
“Not!” bawled Smith. “I, Caradoc Smith-Wentworth, can't think of going to stand watch for a gang of siz-seasick navvies an' a t-toady American Yankee—Not!” he reiterated and laughed in tipsy irony.
A flush of anger went over Madden. He reached down suddenly and caught up the demijohn.
“You—you bet' not drink th-that, y-you little bossy Yankee; it-it'll m-make you d-drunk.”
