He had called at Sui-Fu on his way up a few days before, intending to find out from Burroughs more precise details of Errington's circumstances; for as yet he had not heard of the split between the two friends. But Burroughs chanced to be absent up country, and they did not meet. On this second occasion, however, Burroughs was in his office when the Chinaman called.
"How d'you do, Mr. Ting?" he said; "sorry I wasn't in the other day. All well at Shanghai?"
"Yes, when I left. That is now some days ago. You are doing well, your father says."
"Rubbing along, you know. These disturbances up the river aren't good for business."
"That is tlue. And your flend Pidge--I have his school name, you see--will know that even better than you. I saw him a few days ago."
Burroughs did not reply, and Mr. Ting's observant eyes detected an air of constraint in his manner.
"You do not see him so often now, of course," the Chinaman went on. "That is a pity, when you are such good flends. It is a pity, too, that he is so fa' away. He did not look well: do you know what tloubles him?"
"He hasn't said anything to me," said Burroughs, looking still more uncomfortable.
"He has not sent you a letter lately?"
"No," said Burroughs, adding hastily: "but I wrote to him a few days ago."