and pink dwellings of the Chinese, he found an odd little ramshackle building which was used as a combination bar and lodging-house and kept by a wizened little old fellow who spoke as many languages as a month has days and was known by the extremely uninteresting name of Mr. Isaacs.
He looked shrewdly at Dick Varney when he applied to him for a room. He rubbed his hands together. He was trying to decide whether he could be trusted for a night's lodging. In the appraisal Dick evidently lost out, for in a high-pitched, quavering voice he said, "Have you any money?"
Dick's anger flared up at once. "Have you any rooms?" he cried.
The old man shook his head dolefully. "I think not," he said.
"Well, you'd better think again. I'm going to stop here if I have to pitch you out bodily into the alley. I've got enough money to buy this filthy hovel but I'm not going to buy it. All I want is a room."
Mr. Isaacs adopted a conciliatory attitude at once.
"Be calm," he said, "be calm. Never give vent to anger. Anger is foolish. It might bring on a stroke. I have some of the best rooms in Singapore. They are old but they are clean. They are small but they are good."
As he spoke he led Dick up a rickety staircase to a little dingy room that was so filthy it might have been the forecastle of an abandoned schooner.
"This is a splendid room," he said. "Nice and quiet, nobody to bother you, and only a pound a night."
"You're lucky if you even get a couple of ounces," said Dick. "I appreciate your sense of humor, but don't carry it to an extreme. I'm used to the Orient. Don't mistake me for a fool. If you do not ask something within reason you won't get a thing."
Mr. Isaacs hesitated. "How about two pounds per week?" he asked at last.
"That's more than the whole building is worth," was the reply, "but I'll pay it to you."
He did not add that Mr. Isaacs was interesting to him, that therefore he did not wish to stop anywhere else. If he had, Mr. Isaacs would probably have attempted
