“I come from the most worthy Bazar-man, to whom you stand in debt to the measure of twenty-five dollars,” he began. “I have to remind you that to-morrow is New Year’s day. And for you the sun does not rise unless the sum be paid.” Yee Wing drew a startled breath. True, to-morrow would be New Year’s Day! How had it come so near without his knowing? It found him without what was due. His very “face”--that precious thing, appearance--was threatened! “I am from the South of the Heavenly Empire,” he made haste to answer, catching, as it were, at a saving device. “I am a son of Tang, therefore. Now, with us, there is a custom----” Without explaining further, he took hold of a wooden button upon his cotton blouse and pulled it loose. Then, with profound courtesy, he tendered it to the Collector of Monies. The latter received it with a courtesy that was feigned, withdrawing a covert glance from the partly screened window. “A son of Tang,” he repeated. “There be rich men in the South. Now, perhaps your honoured father--” He paused inquiringly. Yee Wing understood. In the land of the Son of Heaven, a father is held strictly responsible for the obligations of a son. But--the province of Kwangtung was far. “My poor but excellent father was only a dealer in salt,” he said gravely. “His mound is upon a desolate stretch beside the Yang-tse.” To save any questions concerning other male members of the family,--who also might be held accountable--he added, “I alone survive to feed and clothe his spirit continuously.” A baleful light shone in the slant, searching eyes, but the words of the Collector of Monies were gracious enough. “Filial piety,” he observed, “has first place among the virtues.” Then, with pompous deprecation, “My humble parent is but a _kouang-fou_ in the Customs Service of Shanghai.” Yee Wing lowered his own look in becoming deference. The son of a civil officer carries power. The stranger now gave a second nod and moved away,--not, however, without again peering through the window; and soon, seated on the dummy of an electric car, he was spinning out of sight in the direction of Fruitvale. Yee Wing watched him go, then hastily entered the house. Fireworks, for the frightening away of evil spirits, might not be exploded near the powder. So he sought for a tiny gong and beat it roundly. “I like not that man’s countenance,” he told Yee Chu. “Did you note how he spied upon the place? He is of the sort that would steal food like a dog.” Saying which, the Powder-man beat his gong more loudly than before, and burned at the entrance to his home handful upon handful of propitiatory paper. * * * * *