I produced the square of paper I had received from Big Sam. "What does that say?" I asked. Kwan Luey took the paper, and drew his eyelids together till there showed but two narrow slanting slits between them as he pretended to examine it. "Him say--him say--I look-em book and see what him say." And with his bland smile still rendering his face innocent of meaning, he retired to his office. He reappeared a moment later. "Him say you dlaw two hund’ fitty dollah," was his announcement. The comedy of the lottery ticket was being played out to the end. I was convinced that the paper was a direct order from Big Sam to pay me the money, but as I looked into the brown mask of Kwan Luey’s face I recognized the folly of attempting to draw from him any word that he was unwilling to speak. But as he counted twelve twenty-dollar gold pieces and a ten into my hand I could not forbear saying: "And what does Big Sam expect me to do with the money?" I thought I detected a slight movement of Kwan Luey’s eyes--a momentary contraction of the lids, as though a beam of light had flashed across them and was gone. It was the only sign of surprise I could detect. "You sabby Big Sam?" he asked blandly. "Yes, I sabby Big Sam." "And you no sabby what to do with you’ money? You no sabby dlink--all same Clistian? You no sabby hoss-lace? You no sabby pokah?" And at this enumeration of the white man’s facilities for disposing of superfluous wealth he laughed with the ironic laugh of China. I suggested that Big Sam might have intended another destination for the money. "Oh," said Kwan Luey innocently, "you likee Big Sam tell you what do? I likee send letteh to Big Sam. You takee letteh, him tell you what do." The letter was already in his hand, and he passed it to me as gravely as though the coincidence was but one of the common events of life. "I see that you were prepared for me," I said, with a tinge of sarcasm in my voice, and wondered how Kwan Luey would have brought the errand about if I had not served his purpose by introducing Big Sam’s name. The Chinaman smiled placidly. "I no sabby," he said. "Good-by. Some day you wan’ some nice thing, you come Kwan Luey’s stoah." I drew the conclusion that Big Sam wished to see me, and had arranged that Kwan Luey was to find a pretext for sending me to his office. Why he should not himself have sent word of his wish, I could not guess, unless it was a part of his policy to avoid direct paths where indirection could be made to serve.