He is the Bodymaster of Vermissa Lodge, and
nothing can happen in these parts unless Black Jack McGinty wants
it. So long, mate! Maybe we'll meet in lodge one of these
evenings. But mind my words: If you are in trouble, go to Boss
McGinty."
Scanlan descended, and McMurdo was left once again to his
thoughts. Night had now fallen, and the flames of the frequent
furnaces were roaring and leaping in the darkness. Against their
lurid background dark figures were bending and straining,
twisting and turning, with the motion of winch or of windlass, to
the rhythm of an eternal clank and roar.
"I guess hell must look something like that," said a voice.
McMurdo turned and saw that one of the policemen had shifted in
his seat and was staring out into the fiery waste.
"For that matter," said the other policeman, "I allow that hell
must BE something like that. If there are worse devils down
yonder than some we could name, it's more than I'd expect. I
guess you are new to this part, young man?"
"Well, what if I am?" McMurdo answered in a surly voice.
"Just this, mister, that I should advise you to be careful in
choosing your friends.
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