"I have something to say. It is a stlange stoly; it concerns Pidge, but he will not mind, I know, if I speak befo' his flends."
Errington looked a little uneasy.
"Look out!" whispered Burroughs slyly.
"Ten years ago," Mr. Ting went on, "when Pidge was a little boy of nine, my flend and master, Mr. Ellington, called me into his loom one day and said to me, 'We have done well over that deal in cotton, Ting. I've made a velly fine thing out of it. But you know what I am. I am a lich man to-day, but I can't cure myself of this mania for speculation, and as likely as not I'll be a poor man to-mollow. I want you to help me. Here's ten thousand pounds, put it away; never lemind me of it; if I ask you fol it, don't give it me. I hand it to you in tlust fo' me and my son. If I'm blought to beggaly, pay me the intelest; if I die, hold it fo' my boy. Watch over him, bling him out here for a year or two; if then you see that he inhelits my fatal weakness, pay over the intelest, but never let him touch the plincipal.'"
He paused. The three men's eyes were fixed on him; a flush had mantled Errington's cheek.
"'But if my boy, when he leaves school,'" Mr. Ting continued, "'turns out well, the sort of fellow that can be tlusted to make good use of the money, give it him; it will give him a good start.' That is what my flend said to me.
"I have done what he wished. You wondered, Pierce, why I sent you such velly tilesome letters; you thought Ting a nuisance----"
"Sir!" Errington expostulated, but the Chinaman smiled and raised his hand for silence.
"I was doing what I thought my flend would like. But that is over; the school-days are past. I have kept the tlust; the money is well invested, it is nearly twenty thousand now; the time has come fo' me to give account of it."
"Perhaps you had rather be left alone with Mr. Ting, my lad," said Mr. Burroughs kindly.