“Prendick,” said I.
“Prendick be damned!” said he. “Shut-up—that’s your name. Mister Shut-up.”
It was no good answering the brute; but I certainly did not expect his next move. He held out his hand to the gangway by which Montgomery stood talking to a massive grey-haired man in dirty-blue flannels, who had apparently just come aboard.
“That way, Mister Blasted Shut-up! that way!” roared the captain.
Montgomery and his companion turned as he spoke.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“That way, Mister Blasted Shut-up—that’s what I mean! Overboard, Mister Shut-up—and sharp! We’re cleaning the ship out—cleaning the whole blessed ship out; and overboard you go!”
I stared at him dumbfounded. Then it occurred to me that it was exactly the thing I wanted. The lost prospect of a journey as sole passenger with this quarrelsome sot was not one to mourn over. I turned towards Montgomery.
“Can’t have you,” said Montgomery’s companion, concisely.
“You can’t have me!” said I, aghast. He had the squarest and most resolute face I ever set eyes upon.
“Look here,” I began, turning to the captain.
“Overboard!” said the captain. “This ship aint for beasts and cannibals and worse than beasts, anymore. Overboard you go, Mister Shut-up. If they can’t have you, you goes overboard. But, anyhow, you go—with