Captain Sproule had carried me aft from the drivers' cabin to his own
while I was in a half-unconscious condition, and out of pure pity, I
suppose; but that was the last soft treatment I ever got from him. He
came into the cabin just as I was thinking of getting up, and sternly
ordered me forward to my own cabin. I had nothing to carry, and it was
very little trouble to move. We were moored to the bank just then taking
on or discharging freight, and Ace was in the cabin to receive me.

"That upper bunk's your'n," he said. "No greenhorn gits my bunk away
from me!"

I stood mute. Ace glared at me defiantly.

"Can you fight?" he asked.

"I do' know," I was obliged to answer.

"Then you can't," said Ace, with bitter contempt. "I can lick you with
one hand tied behind me!"

He drew back his fist as if to strike me, and I wonder that I did not
run from the cabin and jump ashore, but I stood my ground, more from
stupor and what we Dutch call dumbness than anything else. Ace let his
fist fall and looked me over with more respect. He was a slender boy,
hard as a whip-lash, wiry and dark. He was no taller than I, and not so
heavy; but he had come to have brass and confidence from the life he
lived. As a matter of fact, he was not so old as I, but had grown
faster; and was nothing like as strong after I had got my muscles
hardened, as was proved many a time.