“What you come here for?” he asked in very good English.

“I look for Chew Chee, China boy, my friend. We come Vancouver Sunday morning in boxcar. Before⁠—we stop skookum house. Skookum house not very ‘skookum’ we come Vancouver⁠—very cold, very hungry. Chew Chee tell me come this house. All right⁠—I come. Now I go. Goodbye!”

He remained silent, his face expressionless to me. I knew the Chinese mistrust of white men, and many of their good reasons for it, and was not offended or discouraged. He was protecting his countryman; I admired him for it. At the door I gave him a final dig. “My friend tell me come your house; I come. You think me luc zhe . You very smart man. You think me policeman. All right. Goodbye!”