A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. He was completely, devastatingly handsome. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. He, a Chinaman, troubling himself over Occidental ideas! With his hands in his sleeves, he proceeded on his way. "And now," cried Jack, leaping up, "for an achievement, compared with which all I have yet done shall be as nothing!" CHAPTER XVII. Would Gerald wish his friend to follow the man? He had hardly registered the decision that he had best do so, albeit with some reluctance, when his trained senses alerted him to an extraordinary circumstance. And this is not France, you understand. "What is this?" she wanted to know. He was there concealed, waiting her return.
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