He is gone now, is Li Sin, but I can see him as plainly as though he were standing beside me. A rather squat sort of man, with a squarish face and high cheek-bones. His shining black hair was parted smoothly at the side, and there was a look of health in the transparent quality of his brown skin and in the whites of his slanting eyes. There was always a quiet smile on his lips, and he wore the tweed and broadcloth of America with as much ease as the blouse and silken trousers of his own land. The only Oriental hint in his clothes was the suppressed gorgeousness of his neckties. He roamed about the great store, passing an occasional word with the attendants or stopping to greet a favorite customer, which was an honor. The customers were much in awe of Li Sin. There were incidents that had taught them to respect him. There was the incident of the amateur pottery expert who happened to be also a millionaire. He noticed a vase of delicate blue jade. "Oh, Li Sin," he said, "I want that. That's a wonderful piece of Ming." "It's not Ming," the Manchu told him. "I tell you it is Ming!" the young millionaire insisted. "I 'll buy it." "I 'm afraid you won't, Mr. Rensselaer," the Manchu answered blandly. "I won't sell it to you." "Then you 'll sell me nothing, ever again," Rensselaer decreed in a passion. "Oh, very well," Li Sin smiled. To Morganstern, the munitions magnate, he was much shorter. The bulky financier rushed into the store rolling a cigar about his fat lips. He wanted a rug, he said, an expensive one, the best in the store. Li Sin smiled a trifle cynically and pointed out something on the wall. "A Persian thirteenth-century," he explained curtly. "Used to belong to a shah of Persia. It costs seventeen thousand dollars." "I 'll take it," Morganstern nodded. "I want something for the bedroom floor." "But, dear sir," Li Sin expostulated, "one does n't put that on the floor. One hangs it on a wall." "I don't care a damn." The munitions man drew out his check-book. "Anything good enough for the shah of Persia's wall is good enough for my feet." "My good sir--" Li Sin's voice was as bland as ever--"you are making a mistake. There are several grass-rug emporiums on Second Avenue. Go into the next drug store and look one up in a telephone-book. Take a trolley across Fifty-ninth Street. They 'll sell you one, and you can carry it home beneath your arm." And abruptly he left Morganstern.