Pete, thank God you come in time!"

"In time to save your head for you, Joe."

"I believe it," said the big man humbly. "I b'lieve he would of cleaned
up on me. Maybe on all of us. Black Jack would of come close to doing it.
But you come in time, Pete. And I'll never forget it."

While he spoke, he was still wringing the hands of Terry. Now he dragged
the stunned Terry around the table and forced him down in his own huge,
padded armchair, his sign of power. But it was only to drag him up from
the chair again.

"Lemme look at you! Black Jack's boy! As like Black Jack as ever I seen,
too. But a shade taller. Eh, Pete? A shade taller. And a shade heavier in
the shoulders. But you got the look. I might of knowed you by the look in
your eyes. Hey, Slim, damn your good-for-nothing hide, drag Johnny here
pronto by the back of the neck!"

Johnny, the Chinaman, appeared, blinking at the lights. Joe Pollard
clapped him on the shoulder with staggering force.

"Johnny, you see!" a broad gesture to Terry. "Old friend. Just find out.
Velly old friend. Like pretty much a whole damned lot. Get down in the
cellar, you yaller old sinner, and get out the oldest bourbon I got
there. You savvy? Pretty damned pronto--hurry up--quick--old keg. Git
out!"

Johnny was literally hurled out of the room toward the kitchen, trailing
a crackle of strange-sounding but unmistakable profanity behind him. And