He did not put his hands on Rattleton, for Frank was equally swift in his movements, and blocked the fellows’ way, coolly saying: 

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you.”

“Out of ze way!” snarled the man, who was an athlete in build.  “If you don’t, I put you ovare, too!”

“I don’t think you will.”

“Put him ovare, Maurel,” ordered the Frenchman, with deadly coolness.

The athletic servant clutched Frank, but, with a twist and a turn, Merry broke the hold instantly, kicked the fellow’s feet from beneath him, and dropped him heavily to the deck.

Bruce Browning stooped and picked the man up as if he were an infant.  Every year seemed to add something to the big collegian’s wonderful strength, and now the astounded Frenchman found himself unable to wiggle.

Browning held the man over the rail turning to Frank to ask: 

“Shall I give him a bath, Merriwell?”

“I think you hadn’t better,” laughed Frank.  “Perhaps he can’t swim, and—­”

“He can swim or sink,” drawled Bruce.  “It won’t make any difference if he sinks.  Only another insolent Frenchman out of the way.”

The master was astounded.  Up to that moment he had regarded the young Americans as scarcely more than boys and he had fancied his athletic servant could easily frighten them.  Instead of that, something quite unexpected by him had happened.

The astounded servant showed signs of terror, but in vain he struggled.  He was helpless in the clutch of the giant collegian.

The master seemed about to interfere, but Frank Merriwell confronted him in a manner that spoke as plainly as words.

“Out of ze way!” snarled the man.

“Speaking to me?” inquired Merry, lifting his eyebrows.

“Oui! oui!”

“I am sorry, but I can’t accommodate you till my friend gets through with your servant, who was extremely fresh, like most Frenchmen.”

“Zis to me!”

“Yes.”

“Sare, I am M. Rouen Montfort, an’ I—­”

“It makes no difference to me if you are the high mogul of France.  You are on the deck of an English vessel, and you are dealing with Americans.”

The Frenchman flung his cigar aside and seemed to feel for a weapon.

Frank stood there quietly, his eyes watching every movement.

“If you have what you are seeking about your person,” he said, with perfect calmness, “I advise you not to draw it.  If you do, as sure as you are sailing down New York harbor, I’ll fling you over the rail, weapon and all!”

That was business, and it was not boasting.  Frank actually meant to throw the man into the water if he drew a weapon.

M. Rouen Montfort paused and stared at Frank Merriwell, beginning to understand that he was not dealing with an ordinary youth.

“Fool!” he panted.  “You geeve me ze eensult I will haf your life!”

“You have already insulted me, my friends and everything American.  It’s your turn to take a little of the medicine.”