The Battleship Boy stood with tightly clenched fists at his side, his teeth grinding in his great effort to control himself. Something of this seemed to convey itself to the jackies who, up to this moment, had looked upon the little scene as a delightful diversion. They saw at once that the red-headed, freckle-faced boy before them was holding himself in check under circumstances that would have driven any one of them into a blind, uncontrollable rage. “Coward!” shouted Kester. At the same time he sprang forward, landing a resounding slap on Sam Hickey’s cheek. Smack! The Battleship Boy’s right fist shot out. Sam had gone the limit in self-control. He could endure no more. The fist landed squarely on Bill Kester’s sore nose, but with a force that must have surprised that worthy. The man staggered backward, falling all in a heap, wedged in between the sides of the eight-inch gun carriage. “Whoop! Now let the eagle scream!” shouted the sailors. “Pretty hot stuff for a shipmate who’s on the binnacle list. Go over and give him another on the same spot, red-head.” Sam’s deck swab dropped from his hand. “I’m sorry I did that. I ought not to have hit him, but I just couldn’t help it.” “Don’t you worry about that, lad,” soothed a shipmate. “Bill got what was coming to him, only you ought to hit him once more in the same place. If you want to finish the job we’ll see that you get fair play.” “I do not want to fight. I am no fighter,” said Sam. “No fighter?” the sailors laughed uproariously. “Do you know, red-head, that Bill Kester is a bully and that he’s licked half the crew already?” “I don’t care if he has licked the whole fleet; he can’t call me a liar and a coward. I could stand for the liar business, because maybe he didn’t mean it that way. But ‘coward’ I draw the line at.” By this time Kester had extricated himself from his uncomfortable position. No one had offered to help him, and for reasons of his own, Sam had not gone to the fallen man’s assistance. The lad stood calmly awaiting the result of his act. Bill got to his feet unsteadily, blinked his eyes, gingerly felt his now flattened nose, then thrusting out his chin, he glared at his young adversary. Sam gave back the look unflinchingly. “Shall we call it square? I’m sorry I tripped you and sorry I had to hit you,” announced Hickey in a manly tone, wholly free from anger. For an instant Kester hesitated. “All right; shake, shipmate,” he said, advancing. Sam met him half way with a pleased smile on his face, his right hand extended to complete the truce that had been declared. “Look out, red-head!” warned a voice with a trace of excitement in it. The warning came too late. Quick as a flash Bill Kester planted a cowardly blow squarely between the boy’s eyes. Sam Hickey settled down on the gun deck, toppled over and straightened out.