but with a quick leap, Luke Striker caught him by the arm and pulled him inside.
"You good-fer-nuthin' rascal!" he cried, catching the Norwegian by the collar and running him up against a back berth. "What right have you to attack this boy up in the top, eh? You jess let that lad alone or I'll—I'll wipe up the deck with ye, by the jumpin' Christopher I will!"
And he shook the burly sailor until the man's teeth fairly rattled. Striker was not as tall as Oleson by several inches, and his weight was considerably less, but his muscles were tough and his bravery unequalled, and there was nothing he would not tackle when aroused. In vain the Norwegian struggled; that grip could not be broken.
"You let go me!" spluttered the swarthy fellow. "You let go! I no mak quarrel with you. Let go, or I tell captain."
"Tell the captain, and that's all the good it will do you. He won't allow sech a rascal as you aboard one minit longer nor he can help, and I know it. Tell him, and take that! and that! and that!"
Each "that" was followed by a bump of Oleson's head upon the edge of the berth, blows hard enough
