A slim figure, enveloped in an embroidered gown, was moving back from a cabin window. The light from within fell--during a brief second--full on an oval face that was brightly painted, red and white, beneath glossy black hair. The nose was straight, and not wide. The eyes, slanted only a little, looked brightly out from under penciled brows. She was moving swiftly toward the canvas screen; but he, more swiftly, leaped before her, stared at her; laughed softly in sheer delighted surprise. Then, with a quick glance about the deck, breathing out he knew not what terms of crude compliment he reached for her; pursued her to the rail; caught her. “You little beauty!” he was whispering now. “You wonder! You darling! You're just too good to be true!” Beside himself, laughing again, he bent over to kiss her. But she wrenched an arm free, fought him off, and leaned, breathless, against the rail. “Little yellow tiger, eh?” he cried softly. “Well, I'm a big white tiger!” She said in English: “This is amazing!” He stood frozen until she had disappeared behind the canvas screen. Then he staggered back; stumbled against a deck chair; turning, found the strange thin girl of the middy blouse stretched out there comfortably in her rug. She said, with a cool ease: “It's so pleasant out here this evening, I really haven't felt like going in.” With a muttered something--he knew not what--he rushed off to his cabin; then rushed back into the social hall. The customs man called time for the second round. As Doane advanced to the center of the ring, Tom rushed, as before, head down. Doane uppercut him; then threw him back, forestalling a clinch. The next two or three rushes he met in the same determined but negative way; hitting a few blows but for the most part pushing him off. The sweat kept running into his eyes as he exerted nearly his full strength. And Tom Sung's shoulders and arms glistened a bright yellow under the electric lights. Rocky Kane, lighting a cigarette and tossing the blazing match away, called loudly: “Oh, hit him! For God's sake, do something! Don't be afraid of a Chink!” Doane glanced over at him. Tom rushed. Doane felt again the crash of solid body blows delivered with all the force of more than two hundred pounds of well-trained muscle behind them. Again he winced and retreated. He knew well that he could endure only a certain amount of this punishment.... Suddenly Tom struck with the sharpest impact yet. Again that hard head butted his chin; an elbow and the heel of a glove roughed his face.... Doane summoned all his strength to push him off. Then he stepped deliberately forward.