e joined by one of the
assistant managers, a man named Jones, who has fiery red hair and, I
should judge, a peppery temper. He is very angry about something, and
several times Mr. Clay tries to argue with him and calm him down; it
seems that he has had a row with a Chinaman. This morning he spoke
sharply to the man, who went stolidly on with his work without seeming
to notice it, but later on, meeting Mr. Jones outside, the Chinaman
drew the knife which they all carry in their belts, and muttered
something threatening to his superior. This evening Mr. Jones keeps
saying again and again in an excited way, "Leave him to me, I'll settle
his hash," and Mr. Clay repeatedly tells him that he can report the man,
who can be fined, but that it would be rash to tackle anything of that
sort single-handed, as the Chinamen all stand together and are like an
enraged swarm of hornets if any one of their number is touched.

However, next day we hear nothing more and spend a lazy morning
wandering about a little and sitting on the verandah until Mr. Clay
turns up about midday and says, "Come and see all the men leaving work
for dinner; you missed that yesterday, and it is quite a sight."

So we go across with him to the big shed. Just as we reach it we hear a
furious noise like the buzz of hornets, and coming quickly round a
corner we run into an angry and excited crowd of Chinamen rushing this
way and that, and stabbing at random in the air with their knives.

"That fool!" ejaculates Clay. "He's done something!" and before we
realise what he intends to do, he is right in among the mob of Chinamen,
knives and all, without a sign of fear. You and I are too much
interested to go away, but we keep well on the outskirts of the crowd.
The roar redoubles as Clay is seen, but after a while it dies away a
little, and then a small party emerge from among the rest, carrying one
of their number, unconscious, between them, and as they pass on down to
the house where they live, the others hurry after them, still chattering
and brandishing their knives.

Clay is much upset. "That fool!" he says again, and there is a deep fold
of anxiety on his forehead. "This morning he took down with him to the
sheds a piece of lead-piping, and stood by the door there, and as the
men came out one by one, he marked the one who threatened him yesterday
and dropped him with a stunning blow on the back of the neck. I don't
think he's killed the fellow. Luckily it tak