"Now, then," roared old Joe, "over with our boat, lads, and board 'em!
Tommy, stay you here and let go the anchor"; and in a very few minutes
Plum and Robins were pulling Joe Westlake ashore.
Sloper and his party saw them coming and manfully stood their ground.
The three seamen, securing their boat, forced their way on to the lawn
and marched up to the tailor and his friends.
"What do you mean by firing at my cutter?" roared old Joe.
"What do you mean by knocking down my chimneys?" cried the tailor, who
was exceedingly pale.
"Who began it?" bawled Joe. "Who fired first? Who's bin and made holes
in that there flag of mine? Why, that's the flag of a British sailor,
you little withered thimble you; and durn ye, if you don't make me
instantly an humble apology and stump up with the cost of what ye've
injured, I'll skin ye!" and he threw himself into a very menacing
posture.
At this point one of the tailor's friends slunk off.
"My chimney-stack is worth more than your twopenny flag," shrieked
Sloper, maddened even into some temporary emotion of courage by the
insults of the old man-of-warsman.
"Say that again, will 'ee," said Joe. "Just sneer at that there flag
again, will 'ee.
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