Ethan made no reply to the man’s remark. Longsword, who sat with his broad back against the heel of the bowsprit, grew crimson, and two sharp points of light shot into his eyes; but he made no movement; since the death of Ethan’s father he had come to look upon the lad as his superior officer, and so strong was the military idea fixed in his mind that he never took an important step without orders. The master’s mate took a seat upon an upturned tub and regarded his mates with a sneering smile. “It’s amusing,” said he, “to stand and watch you taking in all the plum duff that this boy gives you. I suppose,” with a significant laugh, “you’re duty bound to do it because he’s a friend to the skipper.” Still there was no reply; Ethan sat still, never even glancing at the man; the seamen shifted uneasily in their places; they felt assured that the bully meant to pick a quarrel with Ethan, and while they did not like it, his demeanor had so awed them that they dared not interfere. Blake seemed to have mapped out his plan of action well in advance, and proceeded. “It may be an honor to be a friend to a captain, but I don’t know. What sort of captains have you in this American navy of yours? I’ve sailed in British ships, and I tell you they wouldn’t let your skippers swab the quarter deck.” Still he got no answer, though there was no lack of scowling looks directed at him. “And this Captain Jones,” he went on, his face alive with malice, “was one time named Paul, I hear, just plain John Paul. He was drove out of the British merchant service for killing a sailor by flogging, and he come to America and changed his name.” Ethan had come to admire John Paul Jones greatly since he came aboard the Ranger, and this repetition of an old slander aroused him at once. “If you know anything about the matter at all,” said he quietly, “you know that what you say is false!” “What’s that?” shouted the bully, leaping to his feet. “I said it was false. It was a thing invented by his enemies; when he defied them and invited them to prove it, they feared to come forward.” “Maybe,” spoke the master’s mate, folding his thick arms across his bulging chest, “you think that I am afraid to come forward, as you call it.” “It seems to me,” said Ethan as he rose slowly to his feet, “that you are too ready to bluster and bully people whom you think will not fight.” His voice had been low and his movements of the most deliberate as he said this. Then suddenly his manner changed; like a flash he stripped off his woolen shirt and cried, sharply: “Get ready; I’m going to make you prove what you’ve said.” Longsword came to his feet like a shot, and two long strides took him to Ethan’s side. The boy’s bared body gleamed like satin under the glare of the ship’s lanterns, and the strong fingers of the Irish trooper at once began kneading the long, supple muscles of the arms, chest and back and performing other services that his years of experience told him would be of benefit.