She slipped a heavy gold bracelet from her wrist and held it out to the man. Mechanically he took it.
“I go get more!”
She scurried away, disappearing behind the door through which she had come.
“Oh, look here, I can’t accept this,” said James Clancy, walking back to Hom Hing and laying down the bracelet before him.
“It’s all right,” said Hom Hing, seriously, “pure China gold. My wife’s parent give it to her when we married.”
“But I can’t take it anyway,” protested the young man.
“It is all same as money. And you want money to go to Washington,” replied Hom Hing in a matter of fact manner.
“See, my jade earrings—my gold buttons—my hairpins—my comb of pearl and my rings—one, two, three, four, five rings; very good—very good—all same much money. I give them all to you. You take and bring me paper for my Little One.”
Lae Choo piled up her jewels before the lawyer.
Hom Hing laid a restraining hand upon her shoulder. “Not all, my wife,” he said in Chinese. He selected a ring—his gift to Lae Choo when she dreamed of the tree with the red flower. The rest of the jewels he pushed toward the white man.