Commodore Junk — page 120: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“MASTER JACK.” 113 He caught the youth by the arm, and drew hin, half-resist- ing, toward the tree. “No, no, Dinny. Nonsense! I could not climb the tree.” “ Bedad, an’ ye’ve got to climb it!” cried Dinny. ‘“ Now, thin, take howld toightly, and up you go.” “Loose my arm,” said Jack, speaking in a low voice, full of suppressed anger. “‘Divil a bit. Ye’ve got to climb that three.” “ Loose my arm, Dinny,” said Jack again. “Ye’ve got to climb that three, I tell ye, boy. Now, thin, no skulking. Up wid ye.” “ Jack ” hung back, with the colour deepening in his cheeks, and a dark look in his eyes, which Dinny could not interpret ; and, half in anger at the lad’s opposition, half in playful deter- mination, he grasped the youth firmly, and forced him toward the tree. In an instant Jack flung himself round, with his eyes flash- ing, and before the Irishman could realise what was coming he went staggering back from the fierce blow he received in his chest, caught his heels against the husk of an overgrown nut, and came down heavily on the sand. Dinny was an Irishman, and he had received a blow. “Bad luck to ye, ye arbitrary young divil!” he cried, springing up. “It’s a big bating ye want, is it, to tache ye manners ! thin ye shall have it.” Jack trembled with indignation and excitement, but not with fear, for his cheeks were scarlet instead of pale. A blow had been struck, and he knew that no Irishman would receive one without giving it back with interest, and the only way out of the difficulty was to run, and he scorned to do that. Quick as lightning he snatched a knife from his pocket, threw open the blade, and held it across his chest, half turning H COnnicloooks