"You think—oh, hell!" said Mac.
He smote Wong on the shoulder and the old man turned to him. There was something like a smile upon his face at last.
"Ta't the boss fo' su'," he said; "my can see."
Mac ran a little way up-stream, past the burnt wharves, and came to one where there was a boat. He thrust it down the shore into the water and forgot his aching shoulder, bad as it was.
"Oh, poor Jenny, poor Jenny!" he said. He heard the call again.
"That's Quin's call. By the Holy Mackinaw that's him," said Mac. Now that he knew, the ache came back to him. He pulled in one oar and sculled the boat from the stern with the other.
And George Quin sat down on the edge of the water and waited.
"If he says 'How's Jenny?' first of all, I'll recken he's worth the little klootchman," said Mac. He saw Quin rise up and stand waiting. He was torn to rags and still soaking, but his face was strong and calm.
"That you, Quin?" asked Mac.
"That's me," said Quin. Then he spoke aright.