"No! We'll show that gang what a cannery can do. Marsh's traps will rot where they stand." Big George shook his tight-clinched fist again. "We've won, my boy! We've won!"
"Then don't let us stand here talking!" cried Emerson, sharply. "Hurry!
Hurry!" He turned, and sped up the dock.
He had come into his own at last, and he vowed with tight-shut teeth that no wheel should stop, no belt should slacken, no man should leave his duty till the run had passed. At the entrance to the throbbing, clanging building he paused an instant, and with a smile looked toward the yacht floating lazily in the distance. Then, with knees sagging beneath him from weariness, he entered.
CHAPTER XXV
THE CLASH
"I've heard the news!" cried Cherry, later that afternoon, shrieking to make herself heard above the rattle and jar of the machinery.
"There seems to be a Providence that watches over fishermen," said Boyd.
"I am happy, for your sake, and I want to apologize for my display of temper. Come away where I won't have to scream so. I want to talk to you."
"It is music to my ears," he answered, as he led her past the rows of Chinamen bowed before their soldering-torches as if busied with some heathen rites. "But I'm glad to sit down just the same. I've been on my feet for thirty-six hours."
"You poor boy! Why don't you take some sleep?"