The Englishmen glanced at each other. "Better go the whole hog and do it decently while we are about it," said Errington. "Perhaps you can do something to cure yourself," said Burroughs in a loud tone to the German. Reinhardt removed the wads from his ears, and looking at them doubtfully for a moment, laid them down on the floor beside him. "Zanks," he said. "Now I am all attention." "Not at all," said Burroughs. "Have some of this--I don’t know what it is." He ladled a sort of stew on to Reinhardt’s plate. For a few moments there was silence as they plied their chop-sticks. Then Reinhardt, glancing up under his eyebrows, said gravely-- "I zink it is chow--puppy-dog, you know." The others held their chop-sticks suspended. "I’ll try something else," said Burroughs, looking suspiciously into another pan. "In China one must not inquire too much," the German went on. "One must have faith. Once I was at an inn, deep in ze country. I demand dinner; zey say zere is none. Naturally I must have dinner, and I command ze innkeeper very loud. Zat is effective. Soon he bring me a ragout--excellent; I eat it wiz gusto. Afterwards I discover it is rats." The Englishmen’s faces expressed their disgust, and again there was silence. "China is a great country for rats," said Errington lamely. "Zat is true; zere are rats all up ze Yang-tse." "Water-rats," suggested Burroughs. "So; four legs--and two," said the German. "Tails--and pigtails," said Burroughs. "I make a study of zem all." "My boy says that rats’ whiskers are lucky," said Errington after a pause. "White rats!" added Burroughs. Reinhardt’s eyelids flickered. He seemed to avert his gaze with an effort from Burroughs’ moustache. "I zink he is perhaps mistaken," he said. Then he appeared to feel that he was skating on thin ice, towards a danger-mark. An observant onlooker might have discovered a resemblance between these three men, talking so quietly over their meal, and fencers, warily feeling for each other, but careful not to engage. Each was trying to "make" conversation, and found, almost in spite of himself, that it trended towards the personal. Reinhardt, the keenest and most experienced of the three, was the first to feel the tendency, and to attempt to divert it. "Ze Chinese," he went on, "zey are very superstitious. Zey believe in spells and charms, zings which Europe dismissed hundred years ago, and more. Zey talk always of luck." "Don’t you see that men make their own luck," said Burroughs. "Perhaps, but not at cards," said Reinhardt. "Zat is skill." He pulled himself up suddenly. "Ze Chinese are indeed extremely skilful. As you English say, zey will catch a weasel asleep." "And skin him!" said Errington artlessly. "I have heard of that too," said Burroughs, catching Reinhardt’s eyes again fixed on his moustache. "Is zere any more cabbage?" asked the German, bending forward over the pan.