"Go call your father, I say," repeated his tormentor.
"I'll call Jube if you want me to," said Paul, with the dignity of a little prince, "but if I were to call ever so long my father--oh, my father!--will never, never come."
The pale face of the child burned red as he began to speak, but it was pallid again before he closed, and his proud voice broke into sobs.
"Take that, and mind how you howl when I speak to you again," cried the tyrant, giving that pale cheek a blow with the palm of his hand.
The little fellow staggered back and uttered a faint cry, but in an instant the dignity of blood aroused itself even in that childish heart. He stood up bravely, pride of race sparkling through his tears.
"I am not a slave, and you have struck me."
"Well done, my little bantam rooster, give us another fling."
The boy's face flamed red under the insulting laugh.
"I am only a little boy; besides, papa says gentlemen never fight with their fists, so if I were a man it would be all the same--but Jube can fight like you--he knows how--yes, I'll call Jube."
"Not till I've knocked all the infernal pride out of your little body," exclaimed Thrasher, starting up and making a dash at the boy.
He was too late. The little fellow had cleared the cabin stairs with the leap of a fawn, and rushing across the deck where Jube was standing, seized him by the garments.
"Jube, good Jube, you can fight--that man down-stairs wants you--he struck me here on my face, the very spot my mother kissed--with his hands so--he struck me."
There was no need for the boy to say this, for three blood red finger marks glowed like living fire across his delicate cheek.
The gladiator broke into Jube's eyes as he saw these marks. His hand clenched and unclenched itself, and he ground his white teeth in ferocious rage. The savage African was fully aroused in him then.
"Look," he said, towering upward, till his athletic person was revealed in all its powerful proportions--"look, your master has struck my master's son--I'll kill him!"
"You will, ha!" cried the loud voice of Thrasher, who had followed the boy on deck. "You will, lump of ebony, will you? Well, let's begin at once. I say, Rice, take that fellow to the rigging, and give him a couple of dozen. I'll let him know that white folks have the say here."