“Peace, my woman,” answered the easy-going man. “Why should we trouble before trouble comes?”
When trouble did come it was met calmly and bravely. To the comfortably off American and wife who were to have the boy and “raise him as an American boy should be raised,” they yielded him without protest. But deep in their hearts was the sense of injustice and outraged love. If it had not been for their pity for the unfortunate white girl, their care and affection for her helpless offspring, there would have been no white boy for others to “raise.”
And Pat and Pan? “I will not leave my Pan! I will not leave my Pan!” shouted Pat.
“But you must!” sadly urged Lum Yook. “You are a white boy and Pan is Chinese.”
“I am Chinese too! I am Chinese too!” cried Pat.
“He Chinese! He Chinese!” pleaded Pan. Her little nose was swollen with crying; her little eyes red-rimmed.
But Pat was driven away.
Pat, his schoolbooks under his arm, was walking down the hill, whistling cheerily. His roving glance down a side street was suddenly arrested.
“Gee!” he exclaimed. “If that isn’t Pan! Pan, oh, Pan!” he shouted.
Pan turned. There was a shrill cry of delight, and Pan was clinging to Pat, crying: “Nice Pat! Good Pat!”