“Why, yes, Jack’s been one of Dad’s right-hand men for—how long, Jack?”
“About ten years,” replied Gillis.
“And I’m equally interested to know how you and Jack know each other so well,” said Douglas curiously.
“I met Donald on the train comin’ out,” answered Gillis quickly.
“Come on, boys,” cried Andy, “we’ll drink to the new champ—to Donnie’s health.” Andy held his glass aloft. “Boys, I can’t make much of a speech, as I ’ave only ’ad one drink. Stand up while we drink to our Donnie. I knows that ’e’s goin’ to leave me, and that ’e’s goin’ to give up the boxin’ gyme. I knows that ’e isn’t in the ’abit of mixin’ with the likes o’ me. I knows that I’m lucky to be blackin’ the boots o’ a man like ’im. But when I knows that ’e went into this fight to ’elp a poor little bloke like me out of an ’ole, I’m proud, boys, I’m proud! I’ve seen many a fight, and I’ve seen many a gyme man. But strike me blind if Donnie didn’t this day teach me something about sheer grit. When ’e came stumblin’ to me at the end of that—that third round—I—I——” He stopped. “You know what ’appened,” he continued in a husky voice. “I ask nothin’ better’n to ’ave ’im for me pal. ’Ere’s to the gymest man that ever stepped in shoe-leather! ’Ere’s to ’im!” Andy turned away quickly to light a cigarette. His eyes were moist. The room was silent.
Donald was deeply moved by his little friend’s show of feeling. Douglas broke the silence. “You got back to the Coast just in time, Jack.”
“How’s that?”
“Dad has started on the biggest job that he’s tackled yet.
“What is it?”
“Do you remember the big tract of timber that he bought in the Cheakamus Valley?”