d three
hundred acres of peat land from a white man who preferred traveling
in Europe. Out of the profits of that one share in the first year, he
bought two shares in another company. And in a year more, out of the
three shares, he organized a company of his own. One year of this, with
bad luck, and he just broke even. That brings it up to three years ago.
The following year, bumper crops, he netted four thousand. The next
year it wan five thousand. And last year he cleaned up nineteen thousand
dollars. Pretty good, eh, for old broken-down Chow Lam?"

"My!" was all Saxon could say.

Her eager interest, however, incited the commission merchant to go on.

"Look at Sing Kee--the Potato King of Stockton. I know him well. I've
had more large deals with him and made less money than with any man
I know. He was only a coolie, and he smuggled himself into the United
States twenty years ago. Started at day's wages, then peddled vegetables
in a couple of baskets slung on a stick, and after that opened up a
store in Chinatown in San Francisco. But he had a head on him, and he
was soon onto the curves of the Chinese farmers that dealt at his store.
The store couldn't make money fast enough to suit him. He headed up the
San Joaquin. Didn't do much for a couple of years except keep his eyes
peeled. Then he jumped in and leased twelve hundred acres at seven
dollars an acre."

"My God!" Billy said in an awe-struck voice. "Eight thousan', four
hundred dollars just for rent the first year. I know five hundred acres
I can buy for three dollars an acre."

"Will it grow potatoes?" Gunston asked.

Billy shook his head. "Nor nothin' else, I guess."

All three laughed heartily and the commission merchant resumed:

"That seven dollars was only for the land. Possibly you know what it
costs to plow twelve hundred acres?"

Billy nodded solemnly.

"And he got a hundred and sixty sacks to the acre that year," Gunston
continued. "Potatoes were selling at fifty cents. My father was at the
head of our concern at the time, so I know for a fact. And Sing Kee
could have sold at fifty cents and made money. But did he? Trust a
Chinaman to know the market. They can skin the commission merchants at
it. Sing Kee held on. When 'most everybody else had sold, potatoes began
to climb. He laughed at our buyers when we offered him sixty cents,
seventy cents, a dollar. Do you want to know what he finally did sell
for? One dollar and sixty-five a sack. Supp