Thus reconfigured, Carl Hollywood stepped out into the streets of 
Shanghai. As he came out the doors of the Aerodrome, his duster billowed in the 
cold wind of the storm and even the beggars stepped away from him. He paused to 
light a cigar before proceeding and was not molested; even the refugees, who 
were starving or at least claimed to be,
derived more enjoyment from simply looking at him than they would have from the 
coins in his pocket. He walked the four blocks to his hotel, pursued doggedly 
by the porters and by a crowd of youngsters entranced by the sight of a real 
cowboy.