We got the stuff on board, right down here where we are sitting now, and he undoes the sacking and there stood six cans of Canton opium, worth Lord knows what a can.
I got the whisky out and had a big drink before I could get my hind legs under me to go for him.
“Well,” I said, “this is a nice night’s work. S’pose Dennis hadn’t been in that police boat? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Don’t you see you’ve been trading on your good name, for if Dennis hadn’t believed in you, we’d both be in quad now with the shackles on us—And look what you’ve done to the Greyhound.”
“What have I done to her?” he fires.
“Done to her,” I says. “Why, you’ve made her disrespectable, that’s what you’ve done to her.”
“Lord, is this the first shady job she’s been in?” says he. “Why, look at those guns we run—what’s the difference?”
“Guns aren’t dope,” I says, “and whites aren’t Chinks. You’ve been hand in fist with Chinks over this, but there’s no use talking. It’s done.”
I knew it was the wife at the back of him. That was the cause of it all, so I didn’t rub it in any more. I remembered Newall’s words about her and the men she’d done in, and I saw as plain as paint that laundry of hers was only a blind for the Lord knows what. I just had another drink, and then I asked him what he was going to do with the stuff now he had it on board. He said he was going to stick it in the lazarette for a few days till things were quiet and then he’d get it ashore, can by can, and he’d do it all himself and not ask me to help him.
Then we got the stuff into the lazarette and had a snooze, and somewhere about noon next day he goes ashore, leaving me on board.
I couldn’t eat nor sit still, couldn’t do anything but smoke and walk the deck. I reckon when a man’s in trouble there’s nothing better than tobacco, it gives him better advice than all the friends in the world.