"Aren't you lonesome here, King?" I asked next. "Not many Chinamen around here, are there?"
"Oh, Chinamen no good! All time make tlouble." He poured the ground coffee into a canister and took down a pot.
"There's a Chinese laundry over at the Harbor. Don't you go over there sometimes to smoke a pipe?"
"Aw! No good smoke pipe. More better stay here."
Now this was contrary to the habits of Chinamen as I had known them, and I scented something interesting.
"You no play fan-tan?" I asked.
"Aw! Fan-tan no good," King replied contemptuously. "All time lose heap money. No good!"
He shook his head again as he shook down his fire, poked it, and went to the sink to wash his hands and wipe them on the roller towel. I watched his deft, precise movements; he was like a machine in the accurate way in which he handled everything.
"What tong do you belong to, King?" I asked presently.
He gave me a cunning look.