Ping Pong, the Chinese boy, had long ago made up his mind that he was going to work for Motor Matt. He wasn't particular whether he got any pay or not; just so Matt gave him enough to do to keep him around.
Ping had followed Matt from San Francisco to Madison, Wisconsin. When Matt was ready to leave Madison, he got Ping a good job. The Chinaman seemed a bit depressed, but he thanked Matt for the interest shown in his welfare, and seemed reconciled with his lot when he bade him good-by.
And now here was Ping, dropping into Jamestown like lightning from a clear sky. The Chinese boy was full of surprises, and his surprises were always dramatic—sometimes tragic.
When Matt burst from the hotel into the street, Ping was hustling for a telegraph pole. The bear was within a couple of lengths of him, and there was nothing for Ping to do but to find something he could climb.
Behind the bear raced a rough-looking man in a buckskin jacket. He was flourishing his arms and yelling, but the roar of the crowd prevented his words from being heard.
The people on the sidewalks were enjoying the spectacle immensely. The bear was muzzled, and the Chinaman was scared. It did not seem possible that any harm could come to the fleeing Celestial.
"Two to one on the bear!" whooped some one.
"It's the Chink gits my money!" guffawed some one else. "He's goin' like a limited express train, an' that telegraph pole's too handy."
The crowd surged into the street and toward the pole. Ping was already climbing, but the pole was slippery, and when he had got up about twelve feet, he lost his "clinch" and slid downward. The bear was standing erect and reaching upward with its front paws. Ping slid down just far enough for the paws to reach for him and close on one of his feet.
He gave a yell of fear, and once more began frantically climbing. One of his wooden sandals was left behind. The bear dropped it with a sniff, and once more straightened up along the pole.