None at all. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. He was bewildered. The class laughed, a few putting their hands to their foreheads in a military salute to mock her. Wood in a sharp tone. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. "To-morrow night!" said Spurlock, in a wondering whisper. “Damn! Things are getting plainer. I’ll be waiting for you outside. ‘And your schooling?’ he pursued. ” “Sure thing, kid.
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