"How long will you be here?"
"To-morrow night. It's sixteen days down, with The Tigress. The South China will be dropping to a dead calm, and I want to use canvas as much as I can. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry."
"What a life!"
"No worse than yours."
"But I'm a poor man. I'm always shy the price of the ticket home. You're rich. You could return to civilization and have a good time all the rest of your days."
"Two weeks in Hong-Kong," replied McClintock, "is more than enough."
"But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?"
"Don't you?"
"I'm too busy."
"So am I. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. Whenever I feel particularly gregarious, I take the launch and run over to Copeley's and play poker for a couple of days. Lonesomeness isn't my worry. I can't keep a good man beyond three pay-days. They want some fun, and there isn't any. No other white people within twenty miles. I've combed Hong-Kong. They all balk because there aren't any petticoats. I won't have a beachcomber on the island. The job is easy. The big pay strikes them; but when they find there's no place to spend it, good-bye!"