Chinese -- England -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Epistolary fiction; Humorous stories
“That’s so,” admitted the one by my side. “But I don’t know that there
is any call for a special thanksgiving. As I happen to have more
money of my own than I can reasonably spend I shall drop this in at a
convenient police station. I dare say some poor critter is pining away
for it now.”
Pleasantly impressed by the resolute benevolence of the one who had
a greater store of wealth than he could, by his own unaided efforts,
dispose of, I arranged myself unobtrusively at his side, and maintaining
an exhibition of my most polished and genial conversation, I sought to
penetrate deeply into his esteem.
“Gaze in this direction, Kong,” he said at length, calling me by name
with auspicious familiarity; “I am a benighted stranger in this hyer
city, and so are you, I rek’n. Suppose we liquor up, and then take a few
of the side shows together.”
“The suggestion is one against which I will erect no ill-disposed
barrier,” I at once replied, so inflexibly determined not to lose sight
of a person possessing such engaging attributes as to be cheerfully
prepared even to consume my rice spirit in the inverted position which
his words implied if the display was persisted in. “Nevertheless,”
I added, with a resourceful prudence, “although by no means
undistinguished among the highest literary and competitive circles of
his native Yuen-ping, the one before you is incapable of walking in the
footsteps of a person whose accumulations are greater than he himself
can appreciably diminish.”
“That’s all right, Kong,” exclaimed the one whom my last words fittingly
described, striking the recess of his lower garment with a gesture of
graceful significance. “When I take a fancy to any one it isn’t a matter
of dollars. I usually carry a trifle of five hundred or a thousand
pounds in my pocket-book, and if we can get through that--why, there’s
plenty more waiting at the bank. Say, though, I hope you don’t keep much
about you; it isn’t really safe.”
“The temptation to do so is one which this person has hitherto
successfully evaded,” I replied. “The contents of this reptile-skin
case”--and not to be outshone in mutual confidence I here displayed it
openly--“do not exceed nine or ten pieces of gold and a like number of
printed obligations promising to pay five pieces each.”
“Put it away, Kong,” he said resolutely. “You won’t need that so long as
you’re with me. Well, now, what sort of a saloon have we here?”
As far as the opinion might be superficially expressed it had every
indication of being one of noteworthy antiquity, and to the innately
modest mind its unassuming diffidence might have lent an added charm.
Nevertheless, on most occasions this person would have maintained
an unshaken dexterity in avoiding its open door, but as the choice
admittedly lay in the hands of one who carried five hundred or a
thousand pieces of gold we went in together and passed through to a
compartment of retiring seclusion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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