Champ of the Forecastle
"But I don't want to fight you, you big mutton-head!" I snarled in wrathful perplexity.
"Then Aye fight you on the street or the fo'c's'le or wherever Aye meet you," he said cheerfully.
At that my small stock of temper was plumb exhausted. With a blood thirsty howl I ripped off my shirt. "Bring on the gloves, you square-headed ape!" I roared. "If I got to batter some sense into your solid ivory skull I might as well start now!"
A FEW MINUTES later I was clad in a dingy pair of trunks which Knut dragged