mast--to China, let us say. In an American ship, too, more shame to us
that it must be said.

But the young man was thoroughbred. He had sat down to play a desperate
game with Fortune, and he could not withdraw with the cards on the
table.

"Five dollars," he repeated, mechanically. "Five dollars. What am I
offered? Five dollars."

"Want me to buy you dat, Mame?" said a half-grown boy of the
unmistakable tough type. "Whatjer soy? Five cases for dat mug! And
Tuesday ain't bargain-day, nuther."

"Well, it looks like thirty cents," said Mame, critically. "In Chinese
money, too--thirty yen-yen. What you say, John?" The crowd laughed
again.

"Five dollars."

"Five dollars," repeated the young man, and there were little drops of
sweat on the broad, fair forehead. "Five dollars, five dollars. Do I
hear no other bid? Five dollars--going--going--"

"Six."

It was Indiman who spoke, and this time the crowd gaped in good
earnest. An indescribable emotion possessed for an instant the face of
the young man in evening clothes. Then he fell back upon his first
manner, half-petulant, half-mocking. "Six dollars I am bid," he
announced, briskly, and looked straight at the shipping agent.

Joe Bardi hesitated. "And a half," he said, tentatively, as an angler
who feels the mouth of the fish that he fears may be insecurely hooked.

Indiman capped the bid promptly. "Seven dollars," he said.

The crimp scowled. "Make it eight," he retorted.

"Ten."

The Italian hesitated again. This had the appearance of a contest, and
he was not of the sort who love a fight for its own sake. But his
cupidity had been powerfully aroused. There was a pretty profit in
advance money to be made if he could get this young fool's signature on
the ship's papers of the Southern Cross, outward bound for Shanghai, on
the morrow. He must make at least another try. It might be that the
intrusive stranger from the silk-stocking district was only amusing
himself and would presently withdraw.

"Twelve," he said, and "fifteen," answered Indiman.

The crowd laughed, and Joe Bardi's vanity was sorely touched. It was
not pleasant to be badgered in this unseemly manner while engaged in
beating one's own preserves. Discretion forsook him forthwith.

"Twenty-five," he bellowed.

"Fifty."

"A hundred, and be damned to you!"

"Two hundred."

There was a pause; the crowd held its breath in silent and joyous
expectancy. Joe Bardi passed a hand over his wet