We shook hands on the wharf, and for the last time.

Already he had been promised the first vacancy in Jardine Matheson's.

Some time after my departure, when I was in Western China, he was appointed one of the officers of the ill-fated _Kowshing_, and when this unarmed transport before the declaration of war was destroyed by a Japanese gunboat, he was among the slain--struck, I believe, by a Japanese bullet while struggling for life in the water.
I travelled as a Chinese, dressed in warm Chinese winter clothing, with a pigtail attached to the inside of my hat.

I could not have been more comfortable.

I had a small cabin to myself.