"That isn't the point at all," said Spurling. "I gave your father fair warning what it would be when you came out here. We're not running any Waldorf!" Percy gave a derisive laugh. "And that's no dream!" he interjected, sarcastically. Spurling paid no attention to the interruption. "We're out here for work," he continued. "That means you as well as everybody else. I didn't count on you for much, but you haven't done even that." "I've known for the last week you were trying to freeze me out," observed Percy. "It's been cold enough about this camp to make ice." "Well, whose fault has it been?" "You treat that little Dago better than you do me!" "What of it? He's earning his salt, and a good deal more; and that's something your best friend couldn't accuse you of doing." Percy's temper was fast getting the better of him. "I'm not going to stop here to be kicked round by a bunch of Rubes like you," he snarled. "I won't stand for it any longer. I'll give you ten dollars to set me over on Matinicus to-night." There was a dangerous flicker in Spurling's eyes, but his voice was steady. "You can go, and welcome, on our next trip, day after to-morrow; but we can't break into our regular work to set you across." "No? Say twenty, then! And that's nowhere near what it'd be worth to me to be shut of you and your whole gang!" "I'm beginning to think I did wrong in stopping that fight at Vinalhaven yesterday. Guess you needed all you got and more, too!" In Percy's wrathful condition the reference to the pummeling he had received from Jabe came like a dash of acid in a raw wound. A flood of fury swept away his judgment. "You beggar!" he shouted. "You dollar-squeezer! I'll teach you to talk to me, you--!" He flung himself on Spurling with clenched fists. So sudden and unexpected was the onslaught that there was but one thing for Jim to do, and he did it, expeditiously and accurately. Percy went over backward and fell like a log. For a moment he lay motionless, then staggered up, feeling of his face. "What hit me?" he inquired, dazedly. "I did--right on the point of the jaw. Sorry I had to. Feel better?" Percy made no reply. Walking unsteadily to his bunk, he lay down. There was no violin-playing in the cabin that night. XI TURN OF TIDE At half past eight that night Camp Spurling was dark and quiet. Everybody was asleep but Percy Whittington. He lay in his bunk, wide awake and thinking hard, and his thoughts were far from pleasant. His face was still sore as a result of his battle with Jabe. His jaw ached dully from its encounter with Jim Spurling's fist. But worse than any physical pain was the smart of his wounded pride.