Tau Lot, Bazar-man, sat behind a little counter of polished ebony. His were the calm, unmoved--and fat--face and the quick, shifting eye of the born speculator; his, the smooth, long-nailed hands that do no labor, and that were now toying with one of the Nine Classics. On his head rested a tasseled cap. His jacket was of Shang-tung silk, dyed purple. His breeches were of dark crape, tied down upon socks spotlessly white. The shoes that rested upon the middle rung of his stool were of velvet and embroidered. The Dupont street shop was small, but it held a bewildering mass of merchandise. Silk rolls, matting, bronzes, porcelain, brass, carved furniture, lacquered ware, Chinese fans made in Japan, imported purses worked within a stone’s throw of the store, devil masks, dolls and gowns--gowns of brocade; gowns of plain silk, quilted in finest lines and herring-bone rays and bordered with figured-ribbon bands; gowns of embroidered satin,--mulberry-red wrought with sprigs and circles of flowers, green, with gold thread tracings, black, with silver cranes winging across. Yet though the store was small, and choked to the lantern-hung ceiling, the clerks were many. Some were ranged behind the row of shining glass cases, others lounged in a group near the rear room entrance. There were honourable younger brothers here, and honourable cousins, but not one of a different blood. For Tau Lot thought well of the ancient proverb: _When the fire is lighted, all the family should be kept warm._ Outside the bazar was the tall, upright beckoning-board with its heavy gold characters on a vermilion ground. A Chinese now halted beside it, and glanced casually up and down the street. Then he came through the door, examining a box of sandalwood just within the entrance, leaning over some silk handkerchiefs at the counter-end. Presently he advanced to the ebony counter. “Your trifling servant salutes you, Illustrious,” he said. The Bazar-man scowled. Two hours had he given up to business--two hours of the three spent so daily. Soon he would return to the dreams and sleep of the enslaving pipe. And what babble had Chow Loo to say? “Welcome,” he returned. “Too long you have deprived me of your instructive speech.” “My speech is but a breath in my neighbour’s face. Will the Most Noble not lighten the hour with his voice?” A party of women tourists came crowding in at that moment, picking at everything not under cover, pulling at the hanging gowns on the wall, stretching to see what was behind the cases. Tau Lot looked them over,--there were five--mentally tagging them with price-marks. The old woman was not worth her keep, the next younger little more, the two thin ones perhaps four hundred----. “But the round one,” said Chow Loo, keen to see what the Bazar-man was thinking. “Eight hundred, truly,” and the tasselled cap was gravely wagged.