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Updated: May 28, 2025
The drunken man, a Japanese, whose face looked ghastly pale in the green light from the lantern, stared stupidly at the saki-bowls, which Hung Wapu was trying to shield from the tottering wretch with his arm. "Twenty-eight bowls," he stammered to himself, "twenty-eight saki-bowls " At this moment the sleeping Chinaman awoke and looked at the drunken man with a silly laugh.
A cool current of air coming from the harbor swept through the hot, ill-smelling alley. Hung Wapu went on whispering with his companion, and all the time he continued to polish his little saki-bowls. After a while the visitor fell asleep against the door-post and snored with all his might. Misty shadows began to fall slowly and the lights of the street lamps took on a red glow.
At the same time he polished about two dozen little saki-bowls with an old rag, afterwards arranging them in long rows on the pavement. The animated traffic in the narrow alley gradually died down.
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