"Betting?" said Mr. Ting quietly. He put on his spectacles, a curious trick of his at serious moments.
"No, I don't bet."
"Card-playing?"
"There's no harm in an occasional rubber, is there?" said Errington, his temper rising.
"Gambling?" went on the remorseless Chinaman.
And then the storm burst.
"What right have you to question me?" demanded the boy furiously. "You are not my guardian. You profess to be a friend of mine, and when I ask you for a slight favour you preach at me. You're rolling in money, and won't lift a finger to help a fellow. I don't want your money, though if what people say is true, the amount I asked you for is a precious small portion of what I might claim from you as a right, and no favour."
"Hai! What fo' you talkee so fashion? What foolo pidgin you talkee this time?" cried Mr. Ting. In his indignation at what was in truth a charge of bad faith the Chinaman lapsed for a moment into the pidgin English of his childhood. Then, recovering his composure, he said with quiet dignity: "You are the son of a gentleman who was my master and my flend, and I cannot say to you what I would say to any other man who insulted me so. I do not gludge the sum that you wish to bollow, but I am solly that you want money for leasons that you will not tell, and which I must think are no cledit to you. But I tell you now, I will lend you enough money to pay all you owe, if you will give me a plomise, the word of a gentleman, that you will make no more debts in the same fashion."
Errington looked at him for a moment; then, muttering "Pledge my freedom to a Chinaman!" he flung out of the room in a rage.
CHAPTER VII