thunder-cloud combined. He was so angry that he could now say nothing.
When Tim had repeatedly pushed Charlie's vessel back from the shore,
Charlie as obstinately pushing toward it again, Tim cried out, "Say, I
will make you an offer. Do you see that?"

He pulled out of his pocket a dirty bottle and held it up.

"There, some of the best beer made anywhere is in that. If you will take a
swaller, I'll let you come ashore."

Charlie could hardly contain himself now. He was scarcely able to sputter
out this defiance, "When you catch me tasting that stuff, you'll know it!"

"O jest hear him, Bob!" said Tim, mockingly. "I s'pose this young sailor,
who don't know enough about sailin' to get his craft ashore, has jined a
temperance society."

"Yes," said Charlie, "I belong to Mr. Walton's at St. John's."

"What saint is that?"

The wrathful Charlie gave Tim a look of contempt and turned away.

"O, so he wont turn his pretty face this way, wont he?"

Having said this, Tim changed his tone and shouted fiercely, "You've got
to look this way, sir. Bob, you get on that other raft and I will take
this one here, and we will catch that young saint."

The two unoccupied rafts were immediately brought into service. Never did