he was a Californian and did not hold the members of this race in a
tithe of the esteem he accorded other Orientals. This Japanese was
rather shorter and thinner than the majority of his race. He wore
large, round tortoise-shell spectacles, and clothes that proclaimed the
attention of the very best tailors; a gold-band ring, set with one
blue-white diamond and two exquisite sapphires, adorned the pudgy
finger of his right hand. Farrel judged that his gray beaver hat must
have cost at least fifty dollars.

"We ought to have Jim Crow cars for these cock-sure sons of Nippon,"
the ex-soldier growled to himself. "We'll come to it yet if something
isn't done about them. They breed so fast they'll have us crowded into
back seats in another decade."

He had had some unpleasant clashes with Japanese troops in Siberia, and
the memory of their studied insolence was all the more poignant because
it had gone unchallenged. He observed, now, that the Japanese
passenger had permitted the screen door to slam in the face of the man
following him; with a very definite appreciation of the good things of
life, he had instantly selected the chair in the corner opposite
Farrel, where he could smoke his cigar free from the wind. Following
the Japanese came an American, as distinctive of his class as the
Japanese was of his. In point of age, this man was about fifty years
old--a large man strikingly handsome and of impressive personality. He
courteously held the door open to permit the passage of the girl whom
Farrel had noticed when he first entered the car.

To Farrel, at least, a surprising incident now occurred. There were
eight vacant seats on the platform, and the girl's glance swept them
all; he fancied it rested longest upon the chair beside him. Then,