Humorous stories; Politicians -- United States -- Fiction
"'Welcome, thrice welcome, oh, Beautiful One,' said Quong Lee (not in
English, but in the liquid dialect of the Shansi region). 'It fills my
heart with joy to see you. Why have you thus deserted the lifelong
friend of your father?'
"Ah Moy smiled sardonically, for he had parted from Quong Lee but at
sunrise that morning, after a warm discussion over some of the nicer
points of the game, and the old man's query appealed very strongly to
his by no means undeveloped sense of humor.
"'Most excellent and revered sage,' replied Ah Moy dryly, 'pardon the
unheard-of negligence, and generously deign to overlook the
thoughtlessness of your sorrowing servant--do that; and, Quong Lee, you
must help me! Quickly! Quickly! I want a poison such as you can easily
distil. A mixture so deadly that the slightest contact with it is fatal!
Give me that, I pray you, and let me go. Hurry! Hurry! I am in haste!'
"'You ask much of me, Ah Moy, after your harsh, ill-timed words of the
morning,' remarked Quong Lee coldly.
"'Forget them, O Munificent; forget them,' said Ah Moy, deeply
contrite. 'Carried away by excitement, your abject slave considered
but lightly what he then so foolishly said, and now so fervently
regrets--and--and--let's drop this powwow, Quong Lee. I have no time for
it! I tell you, man, I am in a hurry!'
"Now, Quong Lee, while wholly in Ah Moy's power, and quite well aware of
it, exacted from all of his countrymen a certain amount of deference,
and was loath that his visitor should prove an exception to this
gratifying rule. Ah Moy knew this, but the little farce was becoming
very irksome to him; it took up too much of his always valuable time,
and he intended to forego it in future. Quong Lee, thought he, was a
tiresome old goat who badly needed his whiskers trimmed and his horns
sawed off; and he, Ah Moy, was the man for the job.
"'I am indeed fortunate,' said Quong Lee, ignoring Ah Moy's concluding
remark, 'tremendously lucky, in fact, for I think I have in my
laboratory just what you desire. Yes, I am sure of it. I will get it
without further delay.' He took down a lighted lantern from the wall,
and lifting a trap door at the end of the room, plunged into the
darkness. From the opening nasty, suffocating smells arose, and Ah Moy
was driven out to the shop, where he impatiently awaited his learned
friend. That worthy soon reappeared, and paying no attention whatever to
the odors, beckoned Ah Moy into the room. Ah Moy approached gingerly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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