"I never knew what the word 'prey* meant," said the sailor.
"It means a man, I guess," said Ken.
"She's the huntress—you're her prey," repeated the sailor.
"She'll tame you till you'll dance all day.
She'll take your youth and money away.
Saint and devil, sinner and saint
She's never what she is and she is what
she ain't.
And so I asks—
What is a woman—angel or whore?
You'll never find out in Singapore."
"Or any place else," said Ken.
"And so say I," chuckled the sailor. "Say, buddy, you ain't a fag by any chance, are you?"
"No," said Ken, and laughed.
The room cost one-buck-fifty. The bed was cool, the sheets smelled sweet. The morning shower was a luxury.
In the hotel restaurant, Ken ordered ham and eggs, rolls and coffee. He sat at the counter. Next to him sat a gray-haired woman—then a little brunette—then Mr. Shaw.
He called across the counter: "Mr. Shaw."
The little man with, the big nose squinted. The middle-aged woman smiled and said: "Leon is so near-sighted that he can only see his own nose!" She turned to Leon. "It's the boy who danced at Tia Juana yesterday."
"Oh, hello there," said Shaw. "Meet Norah Nasmuth and her mother—who I hope is still Mrs. Nasmuth."
"We had such a hot time last night that we still talk a
