I was so intent on watching the old man’s magic transformation from a shattered wreck into a sleeping cherub that the boss Chinaman’s return escaped me. He touched my shoulder and I followed him into a small room in a rear corner of the loft, where I found Chew Chee. He shook my hand awkwardly. His English was almost forgotten. All he could say was, “You good man, you good man.”

The boss Chinaman was full of business. He drew out some American gold pieces. “I pay you. Chew Chee pay me sometime.”

I explained to him that I had not come for money; that I was there to see Chew Chee and make friends of his friends, and that if I ever needed money or help I would ask for it and expect it.

“Well, then,” he said, returning the gold to his pocket, “I give you China letter to my company man. You come my store tomorrow night.”