“Well,” cried Kane petulantly, “that's all, isn't it? I understand! I'll let her alone!” “You don't feel that an apology might be due?” “Apologize? To that girl?” “To her father.” “Apologize--to a Chink?” The word grated strangely on Doane's nerves. Suddenly the boy cried out: “Well--that's all? There's nothing more you want to say? What are you--what are you looking like that for?” The sober deep-set eyes of the mate were resting on the high dresser at the head of the berths. There, tucked away behind the water caraffe, was a small lamp with a base of cloisonné work in blue and gold and a small, half globular chimney of soot-blackened glass. “What are you looking at? What do you mean?” The boy writhed under the steady gaze of this huge man, who rested a big hand on the upper berth and gazed gravely down at him; writhed, tossed out a protesting arm, got to his feet and stood with a weak effort at defiance. “Now I suppose you'll go to my father!” he cried. “Well, go ahead! Do it! I don't care. I'm of age--my money's my own. He can't hurt me. And he knows I'm on to him. Don't think I don't know some of the things he's done--he and his crowd. Ah, we're not saints, we Kanes! We're good fellows--we've got pep, we succeed--but we're not saints.” “How long have you been smoking opium?” asked the mate. “I don't smoke it! I mean I never did. Not until Shanghai. And you needn't think the pater hasn't hit the pipe a bit himself. I never saw a lamp until he took me to the big Hong dinner at Shanghai last month. They had 'em there. And it wasn't all they had, either--” “If you are telling me the truth,” said the mate. --“I am. I tell you I am.” “--Then you should have no difficulty in stopping. It would take a few weeks to form the habit. You can't smoke another pipe on this boat.” “But what right--good lord, if the pater would drag me out here, away from all my friends.... you think I'm a rotter, don't you!” “My opinion is not in question. I must ask you to give me, now, whatever opium you have.” Slowly, moodily, evidently dwelling in a confusion of sulky resentful thoughts, the boy knelt at the cupboard and got out a small card-board box. The mate opened it, and found several shells of opium within. He promptly pitched it out over the rail. “This is all?” he asked. “Well--look in there yourself!” But the mate was looking at the suit-case, and at the trunk beneath the lower berth. “You give me your word that you have no more?” “That's--all,” said the boy. The mate considered this answer; decided to accept it; turned to go. But the boy caught at his sleeve.