“Sure he’s a Chinaman,” the youth agreed. “I call ’em Chinks. Nobody here calls ’em Chinamen.”
“I’m afraid,” repeated Jimmy. He always had had a sort of horror of the almond-eyed Celestials.
“They won’t hurt you,” the youth assured him. “This is where they live. This is Chinatown. You’ll have lots of fun. I know a Chink that’ll make you a fine kite that’ll sail away up in the air.”
“Honest?” asked the little boy, his fear temporarily gone at the mention of the kite.
“Sure, if you’re a good boy.”
“You get the kite, and give it to me,” pleaded Jimmy. “I’m a-skeered to have a Chinaman come near me.”
“All right, I will,” agreed the youth. Then in a lower tone he added. “It’s a good thing he is afraid. It will keep him from trying to escape. The house is full of Chinks, and he’ll not try to leave the room after I get him in. I’ll have an easier time than I thought I would.”
They went on past several dark houses. Now and then a door would open, letting a glimmer of light out from the hall. The portal would close quickly again, and the figure that had come out would slink along as though afraid of being seen.
“Here we are!” the youth exclaimed, coming to a halt in front of a three-storied building that was darker and more gloomy-looking than any they had yet passed.
“Is the steam-engine here?” asked Jimmy.