“Come up by the packet?”

“No; came up with The Tigress.”

“The Tigress!” The doctor laughed.  “You’d have hit it off better if you’d called her The Sow.  I’ll bet you haven’t given her a bucket of paint in three years.  Oh, I know.  You give her a daub here and there where the rust shows.  A man as rich as you are ought to have a thousand-ton yacht.”

“Good enough for me.  She’s plenty clean below.”

“I’ll bet she still smells to heaven with sour coconut.  Bring your liveralong?”

“I sometimes wonder if I have any—­if it isn’t the hole where it was that aches.”

“You look pretty fit.”

“Oh, a shave and a clean suit will do a lot.  It’s a pity you wouldn’t give me the prescription instead of the medicine, so I could have it filled nearer home.”

“I’d never set eyes on you again.  You’d be coming up to Hong-Kong, but you’d be cutting out Canton.  I’ll bet you’ve been in Hong-Kong these two weeks already, and never a line to me.”

“Didn’t want any lectures spoiling a good time.”

“How long will you be here?”

“To-morrow night.  It’s sixteen days down, with The Tigress.  The South China will be dropping to a dead calm, and I want to use canvas as much as I can.  You simply can’t get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry.”

“What a life!”

“No worse than yours.”

“But I’m a poor man.  I’m always shy the price of the ticket home.  You’re rich.  You could return to civilization and have a good time all the rest of your days.”

“Two weeks in Hong-Kong,” replied McClintock, “is more than enough.”

“But, Lord, man!—­don’t you ever get lonesome?”

“Don’t you?”

“I’m too busy.”

“So am I. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player.  Whenever I feel particularly gregarious, I take the launch and run over to Copeley’s and play poker for a couple of days.  Lonesomeness isn’t my worry.  I can’t keep a good man beyond three pay-days.  They want some fun, and there isn’t any.  No other white people within twenty miles.  I’ve combed Hong-Kong.  They all balk because there aren’t any petticoats.  I won’t have a beachcomber on the island.  The job is easy.  The big pay strikes them; but when they find there’s no place to spend it, good-bye!”

Tom the cook came in with the chops and the potatoes—­the doctor’s dinner—­and McClintock fell to with a gusto which suggested that there was still some liver under his ribs.  The doctor smoked his pipe thoughtfully.

“Mac, did you ever run across a missioner by the name of Enschede?”

“Enschede?” McClintock stared at the ceiling.  “Sounds as if I had heard it, but I can’t place it this minute.  Certainly I never met him.  Why?”

“I was just wondering.  You say you need a man.  Just how particular are you?  Will he have to bring recommendations?”