“No iron coolie here,” Johnny chuckled. “Everything is done by hand. Heads off, tails, fins, all with big knives.”
“Please,” said the little man. He was holding out a long, thin, oilskin coat. Understanding his wish, Johnny put it on. Still wondering, he watched MacGregor and the girl follow his example.
“Please,” said the little man again. “A thousand apologies.” He was holding out three long, sharp knives, at the same time pointing with his other hand at a break in the solid line of salmon workers.
“Why, the dirty little shrimp!” Johnny exploded. “He wants us to go to work.”
“Steady, son,” MacGregor warned. “They understand English. I fancy there are worse places than this on the ship. We have no choice but to obey.”
Johnny muttered, but dropped into place to slash off a large salmon’s head.
He had worked in a rebellious humor for a quarter of an hour when, on looking up, he discovered that Rusty was performing the most disagreeable task in the salmon line. She was cleaning the fish. Shoving past MacGregor, he turned her half about as he muttered low, “You take my place.”
To his great astonishment, he felt the girl whirl back to her place, give him a hard push, then saw her resume her work.
For a space of seconds he stood there stunned. Then he laughed low. The girl was wise, much wiser than he had known. She was supposed to be a boy. Boys were not gallant to one another. She would play the part to the bitter end. Johnny returned to his task.
“Mac,” he was able to whisper at last, “why would they do this to us?”