In desperation I cried, “No, no, no luc zhe . Him no good. I got plenty good China friends. Me good friend Chew Chee, China boy. Before⁠—Chew Chee stop skookum house I bring him Vancouver. Me good man.” I remembered my Chinese letter and cried out desperately: “You look my pocket; you see China letter; him good letter. You look my pocket.”

The name of Chew Chee was like magic on them. They became silent and listened closely to my talk. I was tied up so that I couldn’t reach the vest pocket the letter was in, but I managed to touch it with a finger. “You look my pocket,” I cried frantically to the old man.