When he bade her good night, on his way to bed, he added, as a last
thought:

"I'll warn you of one thing: Ah Sing. He's the cook. He's been in our
house for years and years--oh, I don't know, maybe twenty-five or
thirty years he's cooked for father, from long before this house was
built or I was born. He's privileged. He's so used to having his own
way that you'll have to handle him with gloves. But once he likes you
he'll work his fool head off to please you. He likes me that way. You
get him to like you, and you'll have the time of your life here. And,
honest, I won't give you any trouble at all. It'll be a regular snap,
just as if I wasn't here at all."




CHAPTER V

AT nine in the evening, sharp to the second, clad in his oldest
clothes, Young Dick met Tim Hagan at the Ferry Building.

"No use headin' north," said Tim. "Winter'll come on up that way and
make the sleepin' crimpy. D'ye want to go East--that means Nevada and
the deserts."

"Any other way?" queried Young Dick. "What's the matter with south? We
can head for Los Angeles, an' Arizona, an' New Mexico--oh, an' Texas."

"How much money you got?" Tim demanded.