One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. And she felt that if she went home it was imperative to pay. She saw nothing of their love-making, and came home from her boarding-school in a state of decently suppressed curiosity for Alice’s wedding. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. ” “Many other people,” she remarked, “have made the same mistake. This obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt. “If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardly with you. Before a month has elapsed, your mother will be mine.
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