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His manner was quite unemotional, neither harsh nor kindly, his metallic voice conveyed no more than the bare meaning of the words which he uttered. When, finally, he ceased speaking, he struck a gong which hung from a corner of the huge table, and Chunda Lal entered. "Fo-Hi addressed a brief order to him in Hindustani and a few moments later a second Chinaman walked slowly into the room."
Confucianism, with its profound sayings and shrewd observations, added a touch of common-sense philosophy to the soul of every Chinaman and influenced his entire life, whether he was a simple laundry man in a steaming basement or the ruler of vast provinces who dwelt behind the high walls of a secluded palace.
Such men have quite forgotten what constitutes civilization. It is true that there are no trams in Peking, and that the electric light is poor. It is true that there are places full of beauty, which Europeans itch to make hideous by digging up coal. It is true that the educated Chinaman is better at writing poetry than at remembering the sort of facts which can be looked up in Whitaker's Almanac.
He spoke in English he had not employed Chinese since he discovered that Ling Chu understood English quite as well as he understood Cantonese, and Whiteside was able from time to time to interject a word, or correct some little slip on Tarling's part. The Chinaman listened without comment and when Tarling had finished he made one of his queer jerky bows and went out of the room.
Colin Camber rose again, and fixing his melancholy eyes upon the newcomer: "Ah Tsong," he said in a tone of cold anger, "what are you doing here?" Quite unmoved the Chinaman replied: "Blingee you chit, sir, vellee soon go back." "What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Camber. "Answer me, Ah Tsong: who sent you?"
"Ching, Ching, Chinaman," "White Hands," and "The Woman at Seven Brothers" are, in my belief, the three best short stories that were published in 1917, by an American author, and I may safely predict their literary permanence. Mr.
Oh, yes, indeed, there was two to his credit, to my certain knowledge, murders both, and I'll bet a ton of shell to an old hat besides that he had a hand in taking off the Chinaman at Oa Bay.
I knew why he spoke, for, though half-asleep the moment before, I was conscious of a low, guttural snore. "Can't see, sir," came from one of the men. "Think it's Mr Ching." "No; Ching never makee nose talk when he s'eep," said the Chinaman, and as he spoke the sound rose once more. "Here, hi, messmate, rouse up!" said the man who had before spoken. "Eh? tumble-up? our watch?" growled Tom Jecks.
In this part of China the farmhouse is made of mud bricks, or mud and reeds, or else of a mixture of mud and stone, and is usually surrounded by a high wall of the same material. Again, there are no chimneys. While my readers are basking in the joyous warmth of an open fire these wintry nights they may reflect that the Chinaman on this side of the earth enjoys no such comfort.
However, I noticed something I am naturally very quick of observation. As I passed the end of the street which goes round the back of the Grand Junction Canal basin, the street called Iron Gate Wharf, I saw turn into it, walking very quickly, a Chinaman whom I knew to be one of the two Chinese medical students to whom Daniel Multenius had let a furnished house in Maida Vale.
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