"No!" refused Percy, shortly.
Entering the cabin, he made a dry lunch on cold biscuit and
soda-crackers, then threw himself on his bunk and began reading. The
afternoon dragged on. At five Filippo came in and began to peel potatoes
and slice ham for supper; soon they were frying in the spider. The smell
was pleasant in Percy's nostrils.
Half an hour later in came the others, tired and hungry. The fish had
been finished. All sat down at the table, Percy, uninvited, drawing up
his soap-box with the rest. Nobody said anything to him, but he ate
with a relish.
The meal over, Spurling turned to him with a serious face. It was plain
he had something of importance on his mind.
"Whittington," said he, "I've been talking matters over with Budge and
Throppy, and we're all agreed it's time we came to an understanding.
Things can't go on in this way any longer. To put the matter in a
nutshell, we can't afford to have you living off us and not working.
You've got to do your share or quit. That's all there is to it."
Percy reddened with wrath. Nobody but John P. Whittington had ever dared
to speak like that to him before.
"What do you mean by making such talk to me?" he demanded. "You needn't
be afraid but you'll be well paid for every meal I've eaten in this old
shack!"
"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.