Again the sun shines on the turbid pea-soup river, the steaming paddy-fields, and sunburnt backs of the sweating trackers as they painfully tow the junks up-stream. A continuous stream of junks drifts down the river, steered by clumsy rudders and big sweeps; now and then a Hakka boat passes laden with lime made by burning oyster-shells, and occasionally a steam launch, flying the Chinese flag, belonging to the Salt Commissioners or Imperial Chinese Customs. The sun is now mounting high in the heavens, when a sampan puts off from the shore and goes alongside the British gunboat. A grey-bearded man steps up the gangway and, handing a double-barrelled gun to the quarter-master, says, “Give that to the doctor, please, and tell him that there is someone waiting to see him.” The quarter-master grunts, as much as to say, “Well, I’m damned!” He hands the gun to the surgeon in the wardroom and says, “Chinaman to see you, sir.” “Show him down, quarter-master,” replies the surgeon, and the venerable Chinaman is conducted to the wardroom. “Well,” says the surgeon, “what’s to prevent me, now I’ve got my gun back, from having you pushed over the side into your sampan and being told never to come near the ship again?” The Chinaman smiles and says, “Nothing, except a foolish sense of honour which prevents you from getting out of a promise you’ve once made, even if you know you’ve been badly swindled. When I sent your gun down to you I knew you might have me thrown into the river, and with some justice on your side, but I also knew that, being a white man, you would stick to your promise and pay me the twenty dollars you agreed on yesterday. I don’t admire you for it, but I know your Western ways.” “Look here,” says the surgeon, “you speak devilish good English; here’s your twenty dollars, and now we’re quits. Have a drink, and tell us something about yourself.” “I will,” replies the Chinaman, “but whether you believe it or not matters little. I call myself Fung Wa Chun,” and the story of Fung Wa Chun as heard by the surgeon remains to be told. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE STORY OF FUNG WA CHUN ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE STORY OF FUNG WA CHUN AH HING brought the drinks. The surgeon pushed the cigarettes over to Fung Wa Chun, and waited for him to begin. The Chinaman tasted his drink as one accustomed to European liquids, and began:—