They were at the edge of the crowd when a shrill voice
called: “Those two big men! Halt ’em!
Stand!”
Officer Akana ran through the crowd with his regulation
Colt brandished above his head.
“The time’s come!” said Harrigan’s
new friend, and broke into a run.
They were past the thick of the mob now and they dodged
rapidly among the cottages until the clamor of police
fell away to a murmur behind them, and they swung
out onto the narrow, dark street which led back toward
the heart of Honolulu. For ten minutes they strode
along without a word. Under the light of a street
lamp they stopped of one accord.
“I’m McTee.”
“I’m Harrigan.”
The gripping of the hands was more than fellowship;
it was like a test of strength which left each uncertain
of the other’s resources. They were exactly
opposite types. McTee was long of face, with an
arched, cruel nose, gleaming eyes, heavy, straight
brows which pointed up and gave a touch of the Mephistophelian
to his expression, a narrow, jutting chin, and lips
habitually compressed to a thin line. It was a
handsome face, in a way, but it showed such a brutal
dominance that it inspired fear first and admiration
afterward.
Such a man must command. He might be only the
boss of a gang of laborers, or he might be a financier,
but never in any case an underling. Altogether
he combined physical and intellectual strength to
such a degree that both men and women would have stopped
to look at him, and once seen he would be remembered.
On the other hand, in Harrigan one felt only force,
not directed and controlled as in McTee, but impulsive,
irregular, irresponsible, uncompassed. He carried
a contradiction in his face. The heavy, hard-cut
jaw, the massive cheekbones, the stiff, straight upper
lip indicated merely brutal endurance and energy,
but these qualities were tempered by possibilities
of tenderness about the lips and by the singular lights
forever changing in the blue eyes. He would be
hard for the shrewdest judge to understand, for the
simple reason that he did not know himself.
In looking at McTee, one asked: “What is
he?” In looking at Harrigan, the question was:
“What will he become?”
“Stayin’ in town long?” asked Harrigan,
and his voice was a little wistful.
“I’m bound out tonight.”
“So long, then.”
“So long.”
They turned on their heels into opposite streets without
further words, with no thanks given for service rendered,
with no exchange of congratulations for the danger
they had just escaped. That parting proved them
hardened knights of the road which leads across the
world and never turns back home.
Harrigan strode on full of thought. His uncertain
course brought him at last to the waterfront, and
he idled along the black, odorous docks until he came
to a pier where a ship was under steam, making ready
to put out to sea. The spur touched the heart
of Harrigan. The urge never failed to prick him
when he heard the scream of a steamer’s horn
as it put to sea. It brought the thoughts of
far lands and distant cities.
