was hard work: the boss knew the value of every penny he spent, and took every ounce he could out of his men." "Bosses are cut out of the same pattern even now," murmured the Boy. "The breed don't seem to improve." Burgess took no notice of the interruption, but went on: "I was finally placed in charge of some work at Syriam; and a little misfortune happened--my over-man died. It was rather a job to get another. Men were not easily picked up in those days. But at last I unearthed one, or rather he unearthed himself. He hailed from the States, and described himself as a Kentucky man--the real 'half-horse, half-alligator' breed. I asked no questions, but set him to work, and reported to the boss, who said 'All right.' The new man seemed to be a gem: he turned up regularly, stayed till all hours, and never spared himself. He was a great lanky fellow, with dark hair, and eyes so palely grey that they seemed almost white. They gave him an odd appearance; but, as good looks were not a qualification in our business, it did not matter much what he was like. He had been a miner, and had also been to sea, and knew how to obey an order at the double. One day he suddenly looked up from his table--we sat in the same room--and asked if I had heard of treasure ever being buried in or near old pagodas. "'Every one hears such stories,' I answered; 'but why do you ask?' "'Wal,' he went on, in his slow drawl, 'I've bin readin' ez haow a Portugee called Brito, or some sich name, did a little bit of piracy in these hyar parts, until his games were stopped by the local Jedge Lynch. They ran a stick through him, as the Burmese do now to a dried duck.' "'What's that got to do with buried treasure?' "'You air smart! This Brito, before his luck petered out, had a pow'ful soothin' time of it with the junks an' pagodas, and poongyies, as they call their clergy. Guess he didn't lay round hyar for nuthin', an' if all I've heard be true, vermilion isn't the name for the paint he put on the squint-eyes. "'But----' "He put up his hand. 'So long. I'm thinkin' that, ef I'd a smart pard--one who saveyed their lingo--we might strike a lead of luck.' "I was always a bit of a roving character, and fond of a little adventure, so that the conversation interested me; still, however, I objected, more with a desire to see how much Stevens, as he called himself, knew than anything else. "'See thar,' he said, pulling out a map from his drawer and unrolling it on the table. 'See thar! This is where Brito and his crowd were,' and he laid a long forefinger on the mouths of the Irawadi. 'When they bested him, the Burmese got little or nuthin' back. I want a pard--one who knows the lingo, an' is a white man. You set me up when I'd struck bed rock; an' I says to myself, Wal, this 'ere _is_ a white man. Ef ever Hake Stevens gets a pile, it's to be halves. The pile's thar--will you jine?'