oing carrots serve the purpose of thinning the
radishes. And when the radishes are pulled, ready for market, that thins
the carrots, which come along later. You can't beat the Chink."

"Don't see why a white man can't do what a Chink can," protested Billy.

"That sounds all right," Gunston replied. "The only objection is that
the white man doesn't. The Chink is busy all the time, and he keeps
the ground just as busy. He has organization, system. Who ever heard of
white farmers keeping books? The Chink does. No guess work with him. He
knows just where he stands, to a cent, on any crop at any moment. And he
knows the market. He plays both ends. How he does it is beyond me, but
he knows the market better than we commission merchants.

"Then, again, he's patient but not stubborn. Suppose he does make a
mistake, and gets in a crop, and then finds the market is wrong. In such
a situation the white man gets stubborn and hangs on like a bulldog. But
not the Chink. He's going to minimize the losses of that mistake. That
land has got to work, and make money. Without a quiver or a regret, the
moment he's learned his error, he puts his plows into that crop, turns
it under, and plants something else. He has the savve. He can look at a
sprout, just poked up out of the ground, and tell how it's going to turn
out--whether it will head up or won't head up; or if it's going to head
up good, medium, or bad. That's one end. Take the other end. He controls
his crop. He forces it or holds it back with an eye on the market. And
when the market is just right, there's his crop, ready to deliver, timed
to the minute."

The conversation with Gunston lasted hours, and the more he talked of
the Chinese and their farming ways the more Saxon became aware of a
growing dissatisfaction. She did not question the facts. The trouble was
that they were not alluring. Somehow, she could not find place for them
in her valley of the moon. It was not until the genial Jew left the
train that Billy gave definite statement to what was vaguely bothering
her.

"Huh! We ain't Chinks. We're white folks. Does a Chink ever want to ride
a horse, hell-bent for election an' havin' a good time of it? Did you
ever see a Chink go swimmin' out through the breakers at Carmel?--or
boxin', wrestlin', runnin' an' jumpin' for the sport of it? Did you ever
see a Chink take a shotgun on his arm, tramp six miles, an' come back
happy with one measly rabbit? What does a Chink do? Wor