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Updated: June 18, 2025
"First-rate, come ahead in and take a seat." Closing the door noiselessly Fong moved soft-footed to a chair beside the table. Here, taking off his hat and putting it in his lap, he fixed a look on Burrage that might have been the deep gaze of a sage or the vacant one of a child.
If he brought back important information this would be raised to a hundred. When he came back he was to communicate with Fong, who in turn would communicate with Mark, and a date for meeting be set. It was now Monday; arrangements for his temporary absence from the Argonaut Hotel could be made the next morning, and he would leave for Sacramento in the afternoon.
The ruins of the chimney lay sprawled across the flower beds, the splintered trunk of the fig tree rising from the debris. Stepping nimbly among the bricks, in his white coat and trousers as if prepared to wait on table, was Fong. "Oh, Fong!" she cried. "Thank heaven, you're all 're all right!" Fong, picking his way with cat-like neatness, answered cheerfully: "I velly well.
White, yellow, brown, grey, and black." "So they are, sir," said Pardoe, as if he had observed the astounding fact for the first time. "Who do they belong to?" "They're yours, sir. Your steward looks after them." "Does he, indeed?" said the skipper, rather nonplussed. "Well, send for my steward." The portly and dignified Ah Fong presently appeared.
She had tried to instruct Fong in an understanding of this, but Fong, having been trained in the hospitable ways of the past, could not be deflected into more modern channels. In his spotless white, his pigtail wound round his head, his feet in thick-soled Chinese slippers, he passed up the hall to the front door. Another chandelier hung there but in this only one burner was lit.
Fine night, Mist Bullage." Fong was an old man just how old nobody knew. For thirty-five years he had served the Alstons, had been George Alston's China boy in Virginia City, and then followed him, faithful, silent, unquestioning to San Francisco. There he had been the factotum of his "boss's" bachelor establishment, and seen him through his brief period of married happiness.
For now and then he saw her shake from head to heel convulsively, as he had seen men in his own country quiver beneath the scourge of bamboos. Now and then, too, he heard her give a stifled moan, like the protest of a dumb creature. But in no other ways did she bare her suffering. Quietly, lest she wake her husband, she fought out the night. Only once did Fong Wu look away from her.
I see chimley fall out and know you and Missy Ellen all 'ighty. If chimley fall in you be dead." "Oh, Fong!" Aunt Ellen wailed; "it's like the Day of Judgment." Fong, having no opinions to offer on this view of the matter, eyed her costume with disapproval. "I get you cover. Velly bad stand out here that way. You ketch cold," and turning went toward the house. "He'll be killed!" Aunt Ellen cried.
Ina Vandeman wheeled where she stood and faced the room, both hands thrown up, laughing. "It was meant to be a joke a great, big foolish joke!" her high treble rang out. "Bron's here somewhere. Wait. He'll tell you better than I could. At a masquerade people do they do foolish things.... They " "Is Bronse Vandeman here?" I questioned Fong Ling.
The bark of dogwood, properly cooked, gave a liquid that killed the ague; and oil from a diminutive bottle, or a red powder whetted upon the skin with a silver piece, brought out the soreness of a bruise. Thus, keeping his house, herb-hunting, writing, studying, entertaining, doctoring, Fong Wu lived on at Whiskeytown.
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