One day he ran up to Chia-ling Fu in his launch, and called on Errington. After a little general conversation, he said casually-- "By ze way, zose little sums you owe me--will it be convenient to pay up?" "I’m rather stoney just now," replied Errington, with an uneasy laugh. "Can you give me a little time?" "Sorry, my boy, I would if I could; but I also am stoney. I must have ze money. But zere is a way for you. Why not go to Mr. Ting? I do not say it is true, but zere are many who believe zat Ting has still moneys of your late fazer, my old friend. A compatriot of mine, a man I know, once heard your fazer say in ze Shanghai Club zat whatever happened to him, ze boy--zat is you, naturally--would be provided for. Ting, said he, would see well to zat." "My guardian in England told me I had next to nothing," said Errington, much surprised; "and my education was so expensive that by the time I came of age there’d be precious little left." "I know nozink about zat. I know only what my friend told me. How stands ze matter? You owe me five hundred dollars; I cannot afford in zese times to wait for ze money; zerefore I say, apply to Mr. Ting." Errington thought over the suggestion. The suspicions already planted by Reinhardt had not taken very deep root, but this fresh hint that Mr. Ting might be actually turning to his own use money that did not belong to him made Errington resolve to broach the matter at the first opportunity. Mr. Ting at intervals travelled up the river on business. It happened that he came to Chia-ling Fu a few days after Reinhardt had made his suggestion. He called on Errington, as he had often done before, gave him news of friends in Shanghai, and showed no sign of any change of feeling towards his old employer’s son. Errington was restless and ill at ease all through the interview. His natural pride revolted against the course he was forcing himself to take. At last, just as Mr. Ting was leaving, he said hesitatingly and with a shamefaced air-- "Could you--would you mind lending me a thousand dollars?" The Chinaman showed no surprise. "You find your pay not enough?" he said. "It was incleased, was it not?" "Yes, but----" "And you are a young man," Mr. Ting went on. "You have no wife nor pickins. I think with your pay, and your commission--velly good, if I hear tlue--you can live velly well. Plaps you tell me what you want so much money for." Errington began to walk up and down the room. He was struggling with himself: should he make a clean breast of it? Shame, an ill conscience, and the suggestions of Reinhardt combined to tie his tongue. "Betting?" said Mr. Ting quietly. He put on his spectacles, a curious trick of his at serious moments. "No, I don’t bet." "Card-playing?" "There’s no harm in an occasional rubber, is there?" said Errington, his temper rising. "Gambling?" went on the remorseless Chinaman. And then the storm burst.