please," added the
cashier, very gently.

"But we mean to keep the party together; and we might as well fight it
out here as in any other place."

Clyde threw off his overcoat, as though he intended to give a literal
demonstration of his remark.

"I don't consider you as one of the party," added Burchmore.

"Don't you?"

"No, I do not. You don't belong to our ship, and I don't pay your
bills."

"No matter for that. If you are not willing to go the way the rest of
us wish to go, I'll pound you till you are willing."

"No, no, Old England; we don't want anything of that sort. Burchmore
is a first-rate fellow," interposed the politic Sanford.

"You leave this fellow to me; I'll take care of him. I can whip him
out of his boots."

"I shall stick to my boots for the present," replied Burchmore, who
did not seem to be intimidated by the sharp conduct of the Briton. "I
am willing to listen to reason, but I shall not be bullied into
anything."

"What do you mean by bullied? Do you call me a bully?" foamed Clyde.

"You can draw your own inferences."

"Do you call me a bully?" demanded Clyde, doubling his fists, and
walking up to the cashier.

"Enough of this," said Sanford, stepping between the Briton and his
intended victim. "We shall not allow anybody to lick Burchmore, for he
is a good fellow, and always means right."

"I don't allow any fellow to call me a bully," replied Clyde.

"He didn't call you a bully. He only said he would not be bullied into
anything."

"It's the same thing."

"No matter if it is, Old England. You volunteered to pound him if he
wouldn't go with us; and it strikes me that this is something like
bullying," added the coxswain, with a cheerful smile.

"I shall thrash him for his impudence, at any rate."

"It isn't exactly civil to tell a fellow you will pound him if he
won't go with us; and who shall thrash you for your impudence, eh, Old
England?"

"I mean what I say."

"We shall allow no fight on this question, my gentle Britisher. If you
should happen to hit Burchmore, I have no doubt he would wallop you
soundly for your impudence."

"I should like to see him do it," cried Clyde, pulling off his coat,
and throwing himself into the attitude of the pugilist.

"No, you wouldn't, Albion; and if you would you can't have that
pleasure. There will be no fight to-day."

"Yes, there will," shouted Clyde.

"Not much;" and Sanford, Rodman, and Stockwell placed themselves
betw