“And so yer’ve been in the wind-jammin’ line, huh?”

“That and a few others,” answered Kieran tranquilly.

“Yer’ll understand a talk then.  An’ here’s a craft won’t take any sail in before you.  And yer quite a hulk in the water yourself, now yer’ve come out where we c’n get a peek at yer.”

“You ought to see me when I’m hauled out on the ways,” retorted Kieran.  “A fair little hulk out of water I may be, but it’s below the water-line, like every good ship, I get my real bearings.  But shall we get to business?  I’ve been hearing about you for years.  And for what you’re going to do to me since I’ve come aboard—­” Kieran threw up his hands.  “Oh, Lord, they tell me you drove your naked fist through the wall of a saloon up on West Street before the ship put out.”

“Yes, an’ I can drive it through the side of you to-day.”

“Man! and I’m not wall-sided either.  You must be a hellion.  But”—­to Kieran’s ears had come the sound of muttering in the crowd—­“shall we get at it?  We ought to make a good match of it.  You may be a bit the bigger, but no matter.  Three or four inches in height and sixty or seventy pounds, what’s that?  What d’you say?”—­he turned to the crew—­“he’s big enough to pull a mast down on deck.  Are the two of us to settle it here without interference?  In the old days men fought so, the champions in front of the armies, and the winning man allowed to ride back unharmed to his comrades.”

That picture, as the wily and eloquent pump-man painted it, impressed them.  And he looked so frail beside the bosun!  They drew well back now; all but one, the crafty carpenter, crony of the bosun and eager tool of the captain.  There was that in the pump-man’s eyes—­the carpenter stepped to the big man’s shoulder.  “Listen to me.  This man’s no innercent.  I’ve seen his picter somewheres.”

“An’ he’ll see something of me in a minute, an’ more than a picksher.  Go away!” The boson shoved the carpenter aside.

“What I like about you, bosun”—­Kieran, having shed his dungaree coat, stood now for a moment with a hand resting easily to either side of his waist—­“and it sticks out all over you, is your love of a fight.  And”—­under his breath this, so only the bosun could hear it—­“I’m going to satisfy that love of yours to-day so you’ll stop your ears up if ever again you hear a man even whisper fight.  Yes”—­drawing off his undershirt, cinching his trousers straps above his hips, and resuming his easy speech—­“I do love a real fighting man.  But your friends”—­he waved his hand toward the crew—­“they must all stand that side.  I want no man between me and the rail this side, no man behind me.  ’Tisn’t fair.”  He turned to them.  “Play me fair in that.  I’m giving your man the slope of the hatch, and he’s tall enough in all conscience without.  So let no man stand behind me.”