THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
vhos a passenger? You t’ink you make dis voyage to America und do noding, eh? By Cott! we’ll see about dot.” And all the while he kept munching at the sea-biscuit, and Monsieur Mornay stood leaning against the rail watching him. “You vhos a French duke or someding, ain’t it? Vell, ve vant none of de royal family aboardt de Saucy Sally. Und vhen I, or de capdain, or Shacky Shackart gif de orders, you joomp, or, py Cott! I’ll know vy not!”
But still Mornay looked at him, smiling. He was in a reckless mood, and welcomed any opportunity that took him out of himself.
“Vell,” the Dutchman asked, his little, thin voice grown shrill with rising temper, “vy don’t you moofe? Vy you standt looking at me?” And, rushing suddenly forward, he aimed a blow of his heavy boot at Mornay, which, had it reached its destination, must have wrought a grave injury to the Frenchman. So great an impetus had it that, not finding the expected resistance, the foot flew high in the air. But the Frenchman was not there. He had stepped quickly aside, and, deftly catching the heel of
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