In a trice Bill threw down his cudgel and, raising his heavy boot,
endeavoured to administer a vicious kick. It was time to take to more
effective tactics, and while the man's leg was poised in the air,
George put in a thwack that made his skull resound, and threw him
quite off his already unstable balance. Bill fell to the ground and
lay there stunned, a roar of laughter hailing the exploit, with shouts
of, "Thrashed by a lad; that's a grand come off for Bill Hutchinson!"
George now had time to look about him. He found that the enemy,
whoever they might be, had been beaten off, and the crew of the
Fairburn brig was in possession of the landing-stage.
"What is it all about, Jack?" he inquired of the man to whose rescue
he had come.
"Why," returned Jack, "they are some of Blackett's men. They tried to
shove us from our berth here, after we had made fast, and bring in
their big schooner over there. Some of 'em are vexed, 'cos 'tis said
there'll be no work for 'em soon. Your father's taking a lot of
Blackett's trade, you see."
"Did they begin, Jack, or did you?"
"Begin? Why, it was a kind of mixed-up job, I reckon. We'd both had a
drop of Christmas ale, you see--a drop extra, I mean--and--why, there
it was."
"Well, you'll be sailing for London in a day or two," said George.
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