"This is Wong," and no more. He led the boy behind the paling that enclosed our bathing-quarters, plucking, as he walked, a sponge and a cake of soap, which happened to be mine. Then I heard: "Take it off!" And again: "Take it off, I say!" Apparently he was obeyed. Then: "Take that off, too; yes, that, too!" Evidently the boy had but two garments on, for considerable splashing took the place of peremptory commands. By and by they came out together and, still hand in hand, passed out of the compound. In half an hour the Irishman came back. "I've just taken Wong down to Poole's," he said, still gravely, "to get him a new suit of clothes." "The trousers were too long, and Wong objected. Poole told him that trousers were worn long this season, and Wong compromised by rolling them up. He'll be here by and by." By and by Wong came back resplendent in new blouse, new trousers, new shoes and socks. On his breast was sewed a big white piece of cotton in the shape of a shamrock, and on the shamrock was printed this: WONG _Cup-bearer and Page in Waiting_ to ---- ----, _Esquire_. Straightway was Wong an habitué of the compound and straightway his education began. Wong was quick to learn. "Attention, Wong!" the Irishman would say, and Wong would spring to his feet and dash for a bottle of--Tansan. "Make ready!" Wong would poise the bottle. "Aim--fire!" Wong would fire, and then would come the command, "When!" which meant "cease firing!" and Wong, perfect little soldier that he was, would cease, though his genial hospitality and genuine concern for the happiness of everybody made ceasing very hard. If his master ordered a bottle of wine at the table, Wong would pass it to every man. He was equally hospitable in the matter of cigarettes--anybody's; for he could never see that what belonged to one man did not belong to all. Essentially, in that crowd, he was right. But it was rather expensive for the Irishman, until one day he told Wong always to take the chits to "that fat man"--who was not Reggie--and thereafter the fat man got them. Wong had caught the military salute from the Japanese soldiers, and every morning, when he came in, he would go around to each of us in turn, clicking his heels, hand at his forehead, and always with that radiant smile flashing from his gentle eyes and his beautiful teeth. The Irishman always slept late. One morning he was awakened by an insistent little voice outside his mosquito-net, saying, over and over: "Hello, George; wake up! Hello, George; wake up!" Somebody had taught him that; but he saw straightway that it was not respectful, and we could never get him to do it again.