“You scoundrel!” said John Harmon, whose seafaring hold was like that of a vice.

“You’re knocking my head against the wall,” urged Silas faintly.

“I mean to knock your head against the wall,” returned John Harmon, suiting his action to his words, with the heartiest good will; “and I’d give a thousand pounds for leave to knock your brains out. Listen, you scoundrel, and look at that Dutch bottle.”

Sloppy held it up, for his edification.