The latter trembled like a leaf. “Honorable killer,” he asked, “there is, I take it, no personal rancor against me in your heart?” “Not a breath--not an atom--not a sliver! It is a mere matter of business!” “You have been sent by somebody else to kill me--perhaps by--?” “Let us name no names. I have indeed been sent by--somebody.” Ng Ch’u looked over his shoulder at Ching Shan who sat there, very quiet, very disinterested. “Ching Shan,” he said, “did you not say that the correct doctrine of the good man is to be true to his principles and the benevolent exercise of these principles?” “Indeed!” wonderingly. “Ah--” gently breathed Ng Ch’u, and again he addressed the hatchetman. “Honorable killer,” he said, “the nameless party--who sent you here--how much did he promise you for causing my spirit to join the spirits of my ancestors?” “But--” “Tell me. How much?” “Five hundred dollars!” Ng Ch’u smiled. “Five hundred dollars--eh?--for killing me?” he repeated. “Yes, yes!” exclaimed the astonished hatchetman. “Five hundred dollars--eh?--for killing me?” he re-broke into gurgling laughter. “Correct doctrine to be true to one’s own principles! Principles of barter and trade--my principles--the coolie’s principles--_Ahee!--ahoo!--ahai!_ Here, hatchetman!” His voice was now quite steady. Steady was the hand with which he drew a thick roll of bills from his pocket. “Here are five hundred dollars--and yet another hundred! Go! Go and kill _him_--him who sent you!” * * * * * And, late that night, back in his neat little flat, Ng Ch’u turned casually to his wife. “Moon-beam,” he said, “the little trouble has been satisfactorily settled.” He paused, smiled. “To-morrow,” he added, “I shall eat my evening rice from a pale-blue Suen-tih Ming bowl with red fish molded as handles.” “Yes, Great One,” came the Moon-beam’s calm, incurious reply. _Short Stories_ THE TAKING OF BILLY RAND BY GORDON YOUNG THE TAKING OF BILLY RAND[11] By GORDON YOUNG For reasons that might be called confidential, since they were known only to Billy Rand himself and to the police, he took the tip of a friend wise in geography and made for a speck on the map called Ponape--a bit of an island that sticks out inconspicuously in the South Seas. He landed on a beach where there were some natives that he mistook for “niggers” and a lot of Germans. Said Billy Rand to a German trader: “I’m travelin’ for my health and lookin’ for a quiet spot. I need rest. This here Langar is too thrivin’ a metropolis. It reminds me of New York.” He looked out of the doorway to where a half dozen little trading schooners were anchored, and at the corrugated iron warehouse; but most particularly he looked at the two wireless masts. Those were what reminded him of New York. “_Ja_,” said the trader, and tipped the empty beer bottle significantly.