“Read!....”      

       “Then I guess you'll just have to stand it.”      

       For some time they stood side by side without speaking; the captain eying the river, the Kid moodily observing water buffalo bathing near the bank.     

       “Tex has got that Chinese heavyweight of his aboard—down below.”      

       “Oh—that Tom Sung?”      

       “Yep. Knocked out Bull Kennedy in three rounds at the Shanghai Sporting. Got some matches for him up at Peking and Tientsin. Taking him over to Japan after that. There's an American marine that's cleaned up three ships'.” He was silent for a space; then added: “I suppose, now, if we was to arrange a little boxing entertainment, you wouldn't stand for that either, eh?”      

       “Oh, that's all right. Take the social hall if the ladies don't object. But who would you put up against him?”      

       “Well—if we could find a young fellow on board, Tex could tell Tom to go light.”      

       “You might ask Mr. Doane. He complains he ain't getting exercise enough.”      

       “He's pretty old—still, I'd hate to go up against him myself.... Say, you ask him, Cap!”      

       “I'll think it over. He's a little.... I'll tell you now he wouldn't stand for your making a show of it. If he did it, it 'ud just be for exercise.”      

       “Oh, that's all right!”      

       Miss Means awoke with a start. It was the second morning out, at sunrise. The engines were still, but from without an extraordinary hubbub rent the air. Drums were beating, reed instruments wailing in weird dissonance, and innumerable voices chattering and shouting. A sudden crackling suggested fire-crackers in quantity. Miss means raised herself on one elbow, and saw her roommate peeping out over the blind.     

       “What is it?” she asked.     

       “It looks very much like the real China we've read about,” replied Miss Andrews, raising her voice 

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