“To tell you the truth, sor, no,” said Corson. “It's a trick of the eye with you, sor. If you was to be here with 'em for a month or two you'd niver think there was two of 'em alike. There's as much difference betwixt one and another as with any two white men. I was loike you at first. I says to meself that they're as like as two pease. But, now, look at those two mugs there in that door. They're no more alike than you and me, as Mr. Wilton here can tell you, sor.” The difference between the two Chinese failed to impress me, but I was mindful of my reputation as an old resident. “Oh, yes; a very marked contrast,” I said promptly, just as I would have sworn that they were twins if Corson had suggested it. “Very remarkable!” said Mr. Carter dubiously. In and out we wound through the oriental city--the fairy-land that stretched away, gay with lanterns and busy with strange crowds, changing at times as we came nearer to a tawdry reality, cheap, dirty, and heavy with odors. Here was a shop where ivory in delicate carvings, bronze work that showed the patient handicraft and grotesque fancy of the oriental artist, lay side by side with porcelains, fine and coarse, decorated with the barbaric taste in form and color that rules the art of the ancient empire. Beyond, were carved cabinets of ebony and sandal-wood, rich brocades and soft silks and the proprietor sang the praises of his wares and reduced his estimate of their value with each step we took toward the door. Next the rich shop was a low den from whose open door poured fumes of tobacco and opium, and in whose misty depths figures of bloused little men huddled around tables and swayed hither and thither. The click of dominoes, the rattling of sticks and counters, and the excited cries of men, rose from the throng. “They're the biggest gamblers the Ould Nick iver had to his hand,” said Corson; “there isn't one of 'em down there that wouldn't bet the coat off his back.” “Dear me, how dreadful!” said Mrs. Bowser. “And do we have to go down into that horrible hole, and how can we ever get out with our lives?” “We're not going down there, ma'am,” interrupted Corson shortly. “And where next?” asked Luella. The question was addressed to the policeman, not to me. Except for a formal greeting when we had met, Luella had spoken no word to me during the evening. “Here's the biggest joss-house in town,” said Corson. “We might as well see it now as any time.” “Oh, do let us see those delightfully horrible idols,” cried Mrs. Bowser. “But,” she added, with a sudden access of alarm at some recollection of the reading of her school-days, “do they cut people's hearts out before the wicked things right in the middle of the city?” The policeman assured her that the appetite of the joss for gore remained unsatisfied, and led the way into the dimly-lighted building that served as a temple. I lingered a moment by the door to see that all my party passed in.