He found his way back to his room. There hadn't been a single coin in the clothes that he wore when entering Ti Kung's house. The contents of these pockets otherwise had been carefully placed on the table in his room, but the clothes were gone. As he stood in his morning-gown reflecting upon the recent affair, his boy came in, bringing a plain black suit of fine quality, suggesting that he try if it would do, and adding apologetically that breakfast was now prepared. The clothing fitted perfectly. Romney realized that they had been made overnight from the dimensions of his old suit, which did not appear again. He wondered if such a thing could be done outside of China.
McLean was both light and heavy upon his mind as he transferred his few belongings to the new coat. Drawing forth his hand, he found that it contained currency of the empire to an amount that he had not seen since the early days of his abandonment. It was an altogether comic-opera amount.
He turned to the servant who stood by, grinning.
"If that one-eyed man comes back again," he said, "show him in."
"One-eye gone way down," grinned the boy.
"What's that?"
The boy made an eloquent gesture to betoken an open grave, supplementing the picture which Romney felt mentally, with: "One-eye gone way down."
"Now, that's too bad," mused Romney. Then there was a crisp, brown, small fish before him that made him forget.
That night the Doctor came for dinner—a cool, delicate meal, exquisitely Chinese—rice, tea, several varieties of sea-food and small high-colored vegetables. Ti Kung appeared alert for the welfare of his guest.
"My dear Romney, I'm afraid things have been pretty dull for you here. A little matter takes me to the Provincial Headquarters. Would you care to come for the ride?"