“Well—I've got eyes, you know.”
“Better learn how to use them. You hurry around to Tex's cabin. We may have to move quickly.” Sulkily the Kid went; and shortly returned.
“Well”—this after a silence—“what did he say? Is he coming?”
“He wants you to go around there—to his stateroom.”
“I won't do that. He's got to come here.”
This decision lightened somewhat the gloom on the Kid's saturnine countenance. He went again, more briskly.
The girl slipped into her own cabin and consulted a folding map of China she had there. Huang Chau—she measured roughly from the scale with her thumb—would be seventy or eighty miles up-stream from Kiu Kiang here, perhaps thirty-five down-stream from Hankow.
Tex was chewing a cigar by the rail. At her step his round impassive face turned toward her.
She said, “Hello, Tex!”
He replied, his one eye fixed on her: “Well, what is this job?”