“Is that so terrible?” asked the girl, with a laughing glance at her cousin.
“A most interesting labor,” surmised Charlie.
“I’ll tell the world it is,” answered the girl in English, and went out. A moment later she returned with a battered old wine jug. Into Swatow bowls she poured two hot libations—then, taking a seat on the far side of the room, she gazed curiously at this notable relative from across the seas. Once she had read of his exploits in the San Francisco papers.
For an hour or more Chan sat, talking with his cousin of the distant days when they were children in China. Finally he glanced toward the mantel. “Does that clock speak the truth?” he asked.
Kee Lim shrugged. “It is a foreign devil clock,” he said. “And therefore a great liar.”
Chan consulted his watch. “With the keenest regret,” he announced, “I find I must walk my way. Tonight my business carries me far from here—to the desert that lies in the south. I have had the presumption, honest and industrious cousin, to direct my wife to send to your house any letters of importance addressed to me. Should a message arrive in my absence, you will be good enough to hold it here awaiting my return. In a few days, at most, I will walk this way again. Meanwhile I go beyond the reach of messengers.”
The girl rose and came forward. “Even on the desert,” she said, “there are telephones.”
Charlie looked at her with sudden interest. “On the desert,” he repeated.
“Most assuredly. Only two days ago I had a long distance call for a ranch near Eldorado. A ranch named—but I do not remember.”
