He’s been one of the family for as long as I can remember.”

“I have heard, my heart bursting with pride,” Chan said, “of the loyalty and devotion of old Chinese servants in this state.”

Ryder spoke suddenly. “Everything you have heard is true,” he said. He turned to Ward. “I remember when we were kids, Dudley. Great Scott, how good Sing was to us in those days. The stuff he used to cook for us - grumbling all the time. Huge bowls of rice with meat gravy - I dream of them yet. He’d been with you ages then, hadn’t he?”

“My grandfather picked him up in Nevada,” Ward replied. “He came to our house when I was just three years old. I remember, because I had a birthday party that day on the lawn, and Sing was serving - his first day. There were a lot of bees down in the meadow and I imagine they were attracted by Sing’s cooking, just as we kids were. Anyhow, I remember Sing - a young man then - marching toward us proudly bearing the cake, when a bee suddenly stung him on the leg. He dropped the cake, let out a yell and looked at my mother accusingly. ‘Melican buttahfly too damn hot,’ he complained. If I were to write my memoirs, I think I should have to begin with that - my first conscious recollection.”

“I guess I missed that party,” Ryder said. “It came a couple of years too soon for me. But I remember many a later one, in Sing’s kitchen. Always a friend in need to us boys, Sing was.”

Ward’s face was serious. “They’re dying out,” he remarked. “The ones like Sing. Somebody ought to put up a statue in Golden Gate Park - or at least a tablet somewhere on one of the famous trails - to the best friends Californians ever had.”

Sing came in at that moment, and the subject was dropped. A long silence ensued. Romano and Swan seemed to be getting rather impatient over the long delay in reaching the real business of the evening. Since the discussion that had broken out on their first entrance, Ellen Landini had not been so much as mentioned. Romano’s cheeks were flushed, his white hands fluttered nervously over his plate, he fidgeted in his chair. Swan also showed various signs of restlessness.

Coffee was finally brought, and then a tray of cut-glass decanters was set before Dudley Ward.

“I have here, gentlemen,” he remarked, “some Benedictine, creme de menthe, peach brandy. Also, some port wine. All pre-prohibition - you break no law in my house. What will you have? Just a moment - Sing! Where the devil is that boy?” He rang the bell, and the old Chinese hurriedly returned. “Sing - take the gentlemen’s orders - and fill them.