“But whose head hath he broken?” asked Jasper.
“Mine, sir,” whined Peter Pipe. “God ha’ mercy!—it sings like Benjamin Good’s bees when they are hiving.”
“And why did he break thy head?”
“Let him say,” said the sailor. “Aye, let him say.”
Peter Pipe shuffled his feet and looked out of his eye-corners. He was a creature of no spirit, and always in deadly fear of something or somebody.
“Maybe he will clout me again,” said Peter.
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