"You weren't lazy in the Rockies," said Atherton sharply.

"Oh, yes I was. There are grades of laziness."

Atherton flung the stub of his cigar overboard and selecting a
fresh one, cut the end off carefully.

"Still got that Jap boy who was with you in America?"

"Yoshio? Yes. I picked him up in San Francisco ten years ago.
He'll never leave me now."

"Saved his life, didn't you? He spun me a great yarn one day in
camp."

Craven laughed and shrugged. "Yoshio has an Oriental imagination
and quite a flair for romance. I did pull him out of a hole in
'Frisco but he was putting up a very tidy little show on his own
account. He's the toughest little beggar I've ever come across and
doesn't know the meaning of fear. If I'm ever in a big scrap I
hope I shall have Yoshio behind me."

"You seem to be pretty well known over yonder," said Atherton with
a vague movement of his head toward the shore.

"It is not a big town and the foreign population is not vast.
Besides, there are traditions. I am the second Barry Craven to
live in Yokohama--my father lived several years and finally died
here. He was obsessed with Japan."