The ranks kept on opening before him,
closing behind, till at last he appeared alone before the master as
though he had come up through the deck. Captain Allistoun moved close to
him. They were much of a size, and at short range the master exchanged a
deadly glance with the beady eyes. They wavered.--"You know this?"
asked the master.--"No, I don't," answered the other, with cheeky
trepidation.--"You are a cur. Take it," ordered the master. Donkin's
arms seemed glued to his thighs; he stood, eyes front, as if drawn
on parade. "Take it," repeated the master, and stepped closer; they
breathed on one another. "Take it," said Captain Allistoun again, making
a menacing gesture. Donkin tore away one arm from his side.--"Vy are yer
down on me?" he mumbled with effort and as if his mouth had been full of
dough.--"If you don't..." began the master. Donkin snatched at the pin
as though his intention had been to run away with it, and remained stock
still holding it like a candle. "Put it back where you took it from,"
said Captain Allistoun, looking at him fiercely. Donkin stepped back
opening wide eyes. "Go, you blackguard, or I will make you," cried the
master, driving him slowly backwards by a menacing advance.
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