As the candlelight fell on her face, she seemed older and more like a bird of prey than ever. The nose and chin had taken a sharper cast, the lines of her face were deeper drawn with the marks of her evil life, and her breath was strong with the strength of water-front whisky. But her eyes burned bright and keen as ever in their sunken sockets, with the fire of her fevered brain behind them.
“I am safe,” I said, “though I had a close shave in Chinatown.”
“I heerd of it,” said Mother Borton sourly. “I reckon it ain't much good to sit up nights to tell you how to take keer of yourself. It's a wonder you ever growed up. Your mammy must 'a' been mighty keerful about herdin' ye under cover whenever it rained.”
“I was a little to blame,” I admitted, “but your warning was not thrown away. I thought I was well-guarded.”
Mother Borton sniffed contemptuously.
“I s'pose you come down here alone?”
“No.” And I explained the disposition of my forces.
“That's not so bad,” she said. “They could git up here soon enough, I reckon, if there was a row. But I guess you didn't think I sent for ye jest to tell ye you was a fool in Chinatown.”
I admitted that I should have expected to wait till morning for such a piece of information.
“Well,” said Mother Borton, “that ain't it. Something's up.”