He was dragging a chair out of a corner for me, bowing and smiling. Whatever else the Spaniards do for the people they rule, they make them polite.
“What’s doing in Chinatown these days?” I asked as he went on with his dressing.
He gave me a white-toothed smile.
“I take eleven bucks out of bean-game last night.”
“And you’re getting ready to take it back tonight?”
“Not all of ’em, sir! Five bucks I spend for this shirt.”
“That’s the stuff,” I applauded his wisdom in investing part of his fan-tan profits. “What else is doing down there?”
“Nothing unusual, sir. You want to find something?”
“Yeah. Hear any talk about the killings down the country last week? The two Chinese women?”
“No, sir. Chinaboy don’t talk much about things like that. Not like us Americans. I read about those things in newspapers, but I have not heard.”
“Many strangers in Chinatown nowadays?”
“All the time there’s strangers, sir. But I guess maybe some new Chinaboys are there. Maybe not, though.”
“How would you like to do a little work for me?”
“Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” He said it oftener than that, but that will give you the idea. While he was saying it he was down on his knees, dragging a