casual dock walloper he might have had to do with. Bunter brazened it
out by turning upon the man, making use of that impressive,
black-as-night sternness of expression his unusual hair furnished
him with:

"My name's Bunter, sir. Does that enlighten your inquisitive intellect?
And I don't ask what your name may be. I don't want to know. I've no
use for it, sir. An individual who calmly tells me to my face that he is
_not sure_ if he has seen me before, either means to be impudent or is
no better than a worm, sir. Yes, I said a worm--a blind worm!"

Brave Bunter. That was the line to take. He fairly drove the beggar out
of the ship, as if every word had been a blow. But the pertinacity of
that brass-bound Paul Pry was astonishing. He cleared out of the ship,
of course, before Bunter's ire, not saying anything, and only trying to
cover up his retreat by a sickly smile. But once on the Jetty he turned
deliberately round, and set himself to stare in dead earnest at
the ship. He remained planted there like a mooring-post, absolutely
motionless, and with his stupid eyes winking no more than a pair of
cabin portholes.

What could Bunter do? It was awkward for him, you know. He could not
go and put his head into the bread-locker. What he did was to take up
a position abaft the mizzen-rigging, and stare back as unwinking as
the other. So they remained, and I don't know which of them grew giddy
first; but the man on the Jetty, not having the advantage of something
to hold on to, got tired the soonest, flung his arm, giving the contest
up, as it were, and went away at last.

Bunter told me he was glad the _Sapphire_, "that gem amongst ships" as