Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. He must have married when he was quite a young man. He made Hong-Kong at dusk: wet, hungry, and a bit groggy for the want of sleep; but he was in no wise discouraged. "But, what of that? It'll be a lesson to him in future, and will show him the folly of doing a good-natured action!" But perceiving that his companion did not relish his pleasantry and fearing that his sympathy for the carpenter's situation might betray him into some act of imprudence, Jonathan, without further remark, and by way of putting an end to the discussion, let himself drop through the roof. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. The man was dangerous. "What's that to you?" demanded Jonathan, gruffly. “Actually, I am, it is terribly stupid.
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