“Our own speed defeated us,” declared MacGregor. “Ah, well, better luck next time.”
“Or worse,” Johnny grumbled.
Had he but known it, it was to be worse, much worse.
“As for me,” MacGregor said a half hour later, resuming his talk, “I don’t hate anybody. It’s not worth while. Sometimes I hate the things they do. Mostly, I try to think of good people and the good things they do.
“And that,” his voice rose, “that’s what I like about this job of ours. If we can drive these Orientals from our shores we’ll be doing good to our own people, a whole lot of ’em.
“Know what I see when I’m tired and I close my eyes?” he asked suddenly.
“No. What?” Johnny grinned good-naturedly.
“Children,” MacGregor said in a mellow tone. “Children playing before an open fire and their mother puttin’ the crust on an apple pie in the kitchen. And those, Johnny, are the children and wives of men way up here scoutin’ around in the cold and fog for salmon. We’re servin’ them, Johnny, or at least we’re trying to.”
Just then Blackie’s head popped up out of the hatch.
“See anything?” he demanded.