Glancing away, I catch Fong in the act of palming a pepper shaker. He slips it into his pocket, but Tao gives him a scolding look, and an under-the-table skirmish ensues between them.

It occurs to me that each of the seamen has a best mate. Maybe that’s why Bo doesn’t like me. If Jamie comes with me to New York, Bo will be all alone. But if Bo is Jamie’s best mate, surely he wants what’s best for him. Perhaps I can budge the stone by getting the stone next to him to move.

Olly puts his face up to Bo’s. “How much are they paying for your job?” Despite the lads’ preference for English, they speak Cantonese here, which they must use whenever the non-English-speaking men are present.

Bo rips a chunk of meat off his fork with his teeth, not answering.

Drummer leans in. “What’s this about jobs?” His thin brown face is animated with chewing. “If there’s work, share. My wife wants to attend the dragon boat races this summer.”

“Go roll an egg,” mutters Bo.

“Jamie bet Bo he could make more money than him, but then Valora bet she could make more money than both of them together by the lights-out bugle,” offers Olly between bites. “If Valora wins, Jamie has to do tricks with her. But if Jamie wins, Valora has to go home.”

Everyone steers their gaze at me. Even the fair-faced Ming Lai lifts his head from his conversation with the Russian girl, who is holding an apple from a bowl of fruit and teaching him the word in Russian.

Tao twirls his braided beard with his shortened index finger. “Big wagers. I believe sister will win.”

“Then you will lose,” growls Fong. He spears a pat of butter with his knife and eats it. “How can one girl make more than two men?”

Tao tugs his beard straight and gives me a serene smile. “Sister knows what she wants. She is very determined.”

Fong makes a hacking noise, his prominent tooth stabbing the air. “Girls should not order boys around. They are weaker and should do as they are told. There is no contest.”

My skin flushes, and a retort springs to my lips. But I clamp my mouth shut. The Chinese are taught to respect their elders. My bet with Jamie takes on more heft. I will show that old man who is weaker when I triumph.

When the last of my roast beef is making its way down my gullet, one of the waiters sets a basket before me. “Thank you,” I say, despite the fact that most of us have finished our meals. He scuttles away without replying.

I lift the cloth napkin from the basket. The lads and I peer in, and my jaw goes crooked. It’s filled with bread heels, all of them scorched. They are so hard, it would take days to soften them in soup.