“What’s this we hear about your rescuing a Chinaman from drowning last night? It’s all about the ship forward, yet aft here we’re the last to hear of it.” Phil colored painfully while he outlined the episode of the river; he said but little of his part, but praised unstintingly the coolness and courage of the coxswain of the launch. “Coxswain Blake belittles his own part as much as you praise it,” Mr. Webster remarked kindly, as the officers rose from the breakfast table. In Phil’s room after breakfast, Langdon examined the ring closely in hopes of discovering a clew to the identity of the owner. “There’s nothing here to tell,” the pilot announced after careful scrutiny, handing the ring back to the midshipman; “it’s of great value among the Chinese; undoubtedly the man was rich and he left with you the only article of value he was then wearing. The Chinese are a queer lot; their superstitions will not allow them to save a fellow-being from drowning, but when they themselves are saved by a foreigner they will at once put aside the obligation by giving their rescuer a costly gift. Your Chinaman doubtless considers his debt is paid.” After breakfast was over the midshipmen asked and received permission to visit the foreign concession. “You must go in uniform,” Lieutenant Webster replied to their request, “and the captain’s positive orders are not to enter the Chinese city.” The lads quickly agreed to keep to this rule, and a half hour later the “Phœnix’s” steam launch landed them on the stone jetty abreast the ship. Here they were immediately surrounded by a score of Chinese ricksha coolies, each one anxious to enlist their patronage in engaging a jinricksha, which is the customary conveyance of the far Eastern countries. The lads were soon seated each in one of these miniature carriages; and the coolies in the shafts darted off at a lively pace down the smooth macadamized roadbed of the Bund. “Where shall we go first?” Sydney questioned, raising his voice so as to be heard above the rattle of the wheels. Phil shook his head in sign of perfect indifference. The sensation of riding in one of these novel carriages for the first time was distinctly pleasant. He felt half exhilarated and half ridiculous. However, before they had traveled a block, he lost his feeling that every one was looking at him, a grown man riding in a baby carriage, and began to thoroughly enjoy the situation. The throngs on the streets interested him, and the color scheme pleased his eye; the gayly dressed natives sprinkled here and there with the more sombre garb of the Europeans or Americans. “I don’t care,” he answered as Sydney repeated his question. “Let them take us wherever they will. Later, though, I want to go to the bank and buy a draft to send home. “Here we are,” he added suddenly, making energetic efforts to stop his own ricksha in its mad career, as he espied the sign on a great stone building: “Hongkong Bank.”