The Weber Literary Journal tervals throughout the evening, Rastus had walked around Chang's tea room, but had not dared to go further. These sallying-forths had been followed by quick rushes back to his home, where, once through the window, he had covered his head with a quilt. At ten minutes to ten Rastus ventured forth for the fifth time that evening and crept down the back alley, carrying a hated spirit-ring. Carefully he felt his way, even though he knew it well, having passed through it a lifetime of times. Plunk! he bumped into a man. He was immediately seized, but he had no fear. "It's all right offica, Fs just gwine on a errand." "For what?" inquired the officer. "For for milk we is gwine t' have bread an' milk fo supper." "Kinder late for supper, ain't it, Snowball; listen, ol' kid, you haven't seen a man around here today, black-headed, with a mustache, maybe needin' a shave, kinda short an' awfully thin and pale." Rastus thought. "You don' mean Ch Chuck Darrell that hop-head, do you?" "Well, if you keep it to yourself, yes, an' it'll take just one good dose of snow to end that bird. Say, Snowball, if you know somethin' about him, maybe there's a thousand bones in it for you." "Don' know nothin' about 'im goodnight offica I gotta hurry 'long I sho' wish I did." Rastus hurried down the dark alley until he arrived in the immediate vicinity of Chang's rear door. He had never entered the back door of the Chang establishment, had never desired to, never dared to, and never intended to, until, well, to choose it as the least of three evils, tonight. He had figured out, though, from what poor Wong-Lee had told him, that there was a hallway directly behind the rear door, containing three doors. One, to the kitchen, the one to watch most. The one to the cellar where Chang kept his tea, and one, a stairway to the bedrooms and the mystery rooms above. It was the latter that Rastus was to use to find Chang's bedroom. Of course, the boy realized that he was running a serious chance with numberless slinky chinkies, but the ring simply had to be returned. If he threw it away, the spirit would "hant" him to death. If he kept the ring, the spirit would have killed him outright, as it probably did poor Wong-Lee. He cautiously listened at the keyhole. He could hear Chang yelling in Chinese, probably giving orders to his kitchen force. The black 36 The Weber Literary Journal boy immediately experienced chills up and down his spinal column as he remembered the jagged knife he had beheld in the furious Chink's hands that morning. Finally, after raking up enough courage, he turned the knob. The door slowly opened and the boy found himself in the dark hallway. He could distinguish the door which led to the kitchen by the many sounds of clattering pans and jumbled Chinese coming from that direction. Rastus chose the door with the long Chinese pipe nailed above it as the door leading to the stairway. His judgment was good. The door opened silently. The covered stairs were pitch dark. The boy stealthily crawled up one by one, looking back at every second step to see if he was being followed. Up, up, he went. Would he ever reach the top? In places the stairs creaked unmercifully. Each creak would nearly set the black boy's hair on end. At the top of the stairs, everything was dark also. The boy's lungs were smothered with the thick foggy incense. He found himself in another crooked hallway with a dim light burning at the left end. Rastus thought surely it must be Chang's own room. He timidly dared to find out. Sure enough, just as Wong-Lee had instructed, there stood the small Chinese statue. Carefully removing it, Rastus pressed the button underneath which unlocked the snap. He carefully opened the door and entered the dimly lighted room. Cautiously he stole across the floor. The door automatically closed and snapped behind him. The boy jumped in fright. Wing Chang's room was very richly furnished in oriental drapes, statues and furniture. It was a scene of wealth that even the profits of a fashionable slum tea room could not have bought. At every glance the black boy would jump at a masterpiece of oriental carving. He imagined he heard someone outside the door. The lock snapped open. The boy jumped behind an oriental curtain directly behind the statue of Chang's hideous sixth ancestor. Not any too soon, for Chang himself entered the room. Rastus thought excitedly. Had he been seen by those squinty sharp eyes as he entered? Probably dozens of these yellow men, from remote places, had seen him pass through the dark halls. Frozen with terror, he heard Chang's approaching steps. But Chang didn't brush back the curtain as Rastus had feared; instead, he stopped at his favorite statue, felt in its mouth, and pulled out his hand again -empty. He made some exclamations in Chinese, then lighted his 37