rung Bateman's hand. There
was no self-consciousness in his manner and the embarrassment was all on
Bateman's side.

"Just wait till I've wrapped this package."

With perfect assurance he ran his scissors across the stuff, folded it,
made it into a parcel, and handed it to the dark-skinned customer.

"Pay at the desk, please."

Then, smiling, with bright eyes, he turned to Bateman.

"How did you show up here? Gee, I am delighted to see you. Sit down,
old man. Make yourself at home."

"We can't talk here. Come along to my hotel. I suppose you can get
away?"

This he added with some apprehension.

"Of course I can get away. We're not so businesslike as all that in
Tahiti." He called out to a Chinese who was standing behind the opposite
counter. "Ah-Ling, when the boss comes tell him a friend of mine's just
arrived from America and I've gone out to have a drain with him."

"All-light," said the Chinese, with a grin.

Edward slipped on a coat and, putting on his hat, accompanied Bateman
out of the store. Bateman attempted to put the matter facetiously.

"I didn't expect to find you selling three and a half yards of rotten
cotton to a greasy nigger," he laughed.

"Braunschmidt fired me, you know, and I thought that would do as well as
anything else."

Edward's candour seemed to Bateman very surprising, but he thought it
indiscreet to pursue the subject.

"I guess you won't make a fortune where you are," he answered, somewhat
dryly.

"I guess not. But I earn enough to keep body and soul together, and I'm
quite satisfied with that."

"You wouldn't have been two years ago."

"We grow wiser as we grow older," retorted Edward, gaily.

Bateman took a glance at him. Edward was dressed in a suit of shabby
white ducks, none too clean, and a large straw hat of native make. He
was thinner than he had been, deeply burned by the sun, and he was
certainly better looking than ever. But there was something in his
appearance that disconcerted Bateman. He walked with a new jauntiness;
there was a carelessness in his demeanour, a gaiety about nothing in
particular, which Bateman could not precisely blame, but which
exceedingly puzzled him.

"I'm blest if I can see what he's got to be so darned cheerful about,"
he said to himself.

They arrived at the hotel and sat on the terrace. A Chinese boy brought
them cocktails. Edward was most anxious to hear all the news of Chicago
and bombarded his friend with eager questions