The first year I was perfectly happy with Moy Kip, and no white man could have treated me better than he did. He named me “Hak Chu”—the black pearl—and nothing was too good for me. But still we didn’t count for much in Chinatown, for Moy Kip was still considered an actor, and below the notice of merchants. It seemed to be as much a question of money as anywhere else in the world, and until we could save enough up to buy a share in some store, we were less than nobody, except at the theatre, where they were always glad to see us both. We often went to see the plays, until, with my husband’s explanations, I got so I could follow the acting pretty well. It’s right interesting when you begin to understand, for everything in the theatre means something. Moy Kip explained to me how the carved and gilded dragon over the doors leading to the dressing-rooms meant a water-spout, and the sign beside it read, “Go out and change costume.” They have lots of different kinds of plays, and some of them take weeks to go through, running night after night until all the doings of the hero are finished. One night while we were sitting on the stage in the theatre watching a new Wae, or painted-face comedian, who had come from China to take Moy Kip’s place, a man came to my husband with a letter. You know, in Chinese theatres they have a special column where letters for anybody in the audience can be pinned up, and this one had been seen by some one who knew Kip was there. When he read it I could see that it had bad news. He got up right off, and told me we must go home. When we were safe in our house, he told me what was the matter. The letter was from the president of a highbinder tong. They had discovered that we were making money some way, and now that if Moy Kip didn’t pay five thousand dollars right off, he would be murdered by their hatchet-men. Oh, I was scared! I tried to make my husband promise to pay the hush-money, but he just wouldn’t do it. He said he might as well die as be robbed of all he had earned at so much risk. He said he wasn’t afraid, but if he wasn’t, I was. From this time on, I had the horrors every time he left me. While we were together on our trips on the launch, I didn’t care so much, for the excitement kept up my spirits, but as soon as I was left alone I burned punks in front of his little joss, just like I was a heathen myself. All went on so quiet that I had begun to feel easier, when yesterday the City of Pekin was reported. It was after dark before we got out to our wharf and put off, and we passed the steamer at the Quarantine Station. It was cold and foggy, and we spent hours cruising out at the mouth of the harbor, in a rough swell, before we picked up the opium and steamed back to Hunter’s Point.