"The Governor? Good heavens, no. There's not enough money in our whole family to wad a gun! They put up all they had to give me a start, and look where I have landed! Do you suppose I'd go back and ask them to put up a thousand more for my rotten foolishness?" He knotted his hands together until the nails grew white then, seeing the unenlightened face below, he added emphatically: "No, no, Tsang, no can askee!" "How fashion you losee money!" asked Tsang. "The money? Oh, belong gamble. Bet on ship's run. First day--win. Second day--win. Then lose, lose, keep on losing. Didn't know half the time what I was doing. To-day my settle up; no can pay office. A thousand dollars out! Lord! All same two thousand Mex', Tsang!" An invisible calculation was made on the end of the steamer trunk by a long, pointed, fingernail, but no change of expression crossed the yellow face. For an incalculable time Tsang sat, lost in thought. All his conserved energy went to aid him in solving the problem. At last he reached a decision: this was clearly a case to be laid before the only god be knew, the god of Chance. "Me gamble too," he said; "me no lose." "But s'pose you _had_ lost? S'pose you lose what no belong you? What thing you do?" "You do all same my talkee you?" asked Tsang, for the first time lifting his eyes. It was a slender straw, to be sure, but Reynolds grasped at it. "What thing you mean, Tsang? What can I do?" "Two more night' to San Flancisco," said Tsang softly; "one more bet, maybe!" "Oh, I've thought of that. What's the good of throwing good money after bad? No use, I no got chance." "_My_ have got chance," announced Tsang emphatically, "you bet how fashion my talkee you, your money come back." Reynolds studied the brass knocker of a face, but found no clue to the riddle. "What you mean, Tsang?" he asked. "What do you know? For the Lord's sake don't fool with me about it!" "Me no fool," declared Tsang. "You le' me talkee number, him win big heap money." "But how do you know?" "Me savey," said Tsang enigmatically. Again Reynolds studied the impassive face. "It's on the square, Tsang? You don't stand in with anybody below decks? The thing is on the level?" Then finding further elucidation necessary, he added, "No belong cheat!" Tsang Foo shook his head positively. "No belong cheat, all belong ploper. No man savey, only me savey, this side," and he tapped his head significantly. Reynolds gave a short, unpleasant laugh. "All right," he said, thrusting his hand in his pocket. "I'll give myself one more chance. There'll be time to-morrow to finish my job. I'll make a bargain with you, Tsang! Bet this, and this, and this, on the next run for me. You win, I no makee shoot; you lose, you promise bring back pistol, then go way. My can do what thing my wantchee, see?" Tsang Foo looked at him cunningly: "I win, you belong good boy? Stop whisky-soda, maybe?"