CHAPTER XVII.
FRANK MAKES AN ENEMY.
“You little whipper snapper! What do you mean by making remarks about me?”
A hand was laid on Frank’s shoulder and he was jerked roughly around, to find the angry face of Lieutenant Taylor confronting him.
Frank shook himself loose.
“I have been making no remarks about you,” he said quietly.
“Yes, you have,” was the angry reply. “Trying to shine up to the little German girl, are you?” and the lieutenant laughed sneeringly.
“Look here,” said Frank, his face turning red, “you leave Miss Beulow out of this. If you have anything to say to me, say it and get out of my way.”
“You dare to talk like that to your superior officer?”
“Yes, I dare; and I’ll say a whole lot more if you don’t get away from me.”
“You will, eh? Do you know what I have a mind to do?”
“No; and I don’t care.”
“Well, you will care. I have a mind to give you a good trimming,” and the lieutenant advanced threateningly.
“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” said Frank quietly. “You might get more than you bargained for.”
“What! Do you think you are any match for me?”
“I don’t think anything about it.”
“I guess not. But let me tell you something: You keep away from Miss Beulow, or I’ll hand you the worst thrashing you ever heard of.”
“You attend to your business, and I’ll attend to mine,” was Frank’s reply. “I’ll walk with whom I choose,” and he turned and started away.
“Oh, you will, will you,” shouted the now enraged lieutenant. “Well, I’ll show you!”
He sprang forward, and with his open palm struck Frank a stinging blow on the side of the face.
Frank in turn leaped forward, and the lieutenant stepped back and placed himself in an attitude of defense.
“You’ll have to pay for that blow,” exclaimed Frank, “I don’t care if you are my superior officer.”
“Don’t let that stand in the way,” said the lieutenant with a sneer. “I won’t hide behind that.”
Frank sprang forward to deliver a blow at his persecutor, when his arm was seized suddenly from behind. In vain he struggled to free himself. He was lifted from his feet as though he had been a child, and a voice exclaimed:
“Here! here! what are you fellows fighting about?”
The newcomer was Jack.
“Let me alone!” shouted Frank, now thoroughly aroused. “He struck me!”
“And what if I did,” sneered the lieutenant, “what are you doing to do about it?”
“I’ll show you what I am going to do!” cried Frank. “Let me go, Jack!”
“Not much I won’t. What chance have you with this big bully? If he wants a row let him pitch into me.”
“This is my affair,” cried Frank, still struggling to free himself. “Let me go.”
“Well,” said Jack, “if you must fight, all right. But not here. Lord Hastings or Lieutenant Edwards is liable to see you and you would both be put under arrest.” He turned to Lieutenant Taylor. “Are you willing to fight?” he asked.
“Any place and any time,” was the reply.
“All right. I’ll take charge of this fight and see that it is pulled off ship-shape. Both of you be forward on the gun deck in half an hour.”
The lieutenant bowed ironically and departed.
“What’s the meaning of this, anyhow?” demanded Jack, when the two lads were alone.
Frank explained his encounter with the lieutenant.
“And you are determined to fight him?” asked Jack.
“Yes,” replied Frank. “No man can hit me and get away without my hitting back.”
“But he is a great deal larger and stronger than you are; and he is probably more proficient in the use of his fists.”
“He may be and he may not,” replied Frank. “I have taken boxing lessons and am not a novice.”
“Well,” said Jack, “it’s your funeral. But I would rather take him on myself.”
“You may have a chance at some other date,” said Frank, and the two made their way to the spot designated for the fight.
Word that there was going to be a fistic battle spread quickly among the crew, and there was a stampede forward on the gun deck. The British sailor loves nothing better than a fist fight, and the news that the encounter was to be between officers added to the enthusiasm.
Since coming aboard Frank and Jack had come to be great favorites with the men, while Lieutenant Taylor, because of his arrogant attitude, was cordially disliked.
Less than twenty minutes later, Lieutenant Taylor, still with a sneer on his face, arrived.
“Now, listen! I am going to run this show,” declared Jack. “And what I say goes. Is that right, men?”
Cries of “Right you are,” and “You bet,” came from all sides.
“This thing has got to be pulled off without noise,” Jack continued; “so I must ask you to refrain from applauding. Is that satisfactory?”
“O. K. Jack,” came the reply from some. “You’re the boy!” and “Run it to suit yourself” from others.
“All right, then,” said Jack.
With a piece of chalk he drew a square on the deck, twenty feet each way.
“Fighting must be done in this ring,” he declared, “Marquis of Queensbury rules, and no hitting in the clinches. Ten three-minute rounds, with a minute’s rest between rounds. This is going to be a square fight, because I am going to referee it. The first man to break one of these rules will have me to contend with, and he will have a big job on his hands.”
A subdued laugh ran along the line of sailor spectators.
“Good for you, Jack,” came the cries. “You’re the boy! Tell ’em what’s what!”
“Now for seconds,” continued Jack. “Thomas, you will go to Chadwick’s corner. I don’t like to impose upon anyone, so I shall call for volunteers. Who will second the lieutenant?”
There was a moment’s silence, then an old sailor in the rear of the crowd pushed his way forward.
“I don’t think much of the job,” he said, “but somebody has got to do it. I guess I’m the victim.”
“All right,” said Jack. “Now get your men to their corners.”
As the two combatants divested themselves of their coats and vests, and turned up their shirt sleeves to the elbow, it seemed to the spectators that the battle was bound to be one-sided.
Lieutenant Taylor, tall and broad, topped his opponent by several inches. His hands were big and his arms muscular. Beside him Frank looked frail indeed.
However, Frank’s light weight gave him some advantage over the lieutenant, for the latter’s size greatly impeded his activity, while Frank was as quick on his feet as a cat.
At length the combatants stood ready in their corners. Jack advanced to the center of the ring, and called the two to him. Standing between them, he repeated his instructions; then, not asking them to shake hands, he skipped nimbly from between them, and shouted:
“Time!”