The coolies told me the next day the road would be worse,
and so it turned out to be.
At 5:00 a.m. a thick drizzly rain was falling, just sufficient to make
the flagstones slippery as ice, and the European contrivances which
covered my feet stood no chance at all compared with the straw sandals
of the native. I could not get any big enough around here to put over my
boots. My carriers had gone ahead, and as I was passing a paddy field
one leg went from under me, and I was up to my middle in thin wet mud.
In this I had to trudge seven miles before I could get other garments
from the coolie, changing my trousers behind a piece of matting held up
in front of me by my boy! All enjoyed the fun--except myself. Little
boys tried to peer around the side of the matting, and, as T'ong tried
to kick them away, the matting would drop and expose me to public view.
But I had to change, and that was most important to me.
Later on, my ugly coolie--the ugliest man in or out of China, I should
think, ugly beyond description--dropped my bedding as he was crossing
the river, and I had the pleasure of sleeping on a wet bed at T'an-teo.
I must ask the reader's pardon for again referring to Chinese inns.
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