You speak English well. I congratulate you. Have you
had a good journey? How far are you going? Very warm?" I waited. "It is
so interesting when one meets a gentleman who can speak English; it is a
pleasant change." I waited again. "Will you--"
"Good morning, morning, morn--he, he, he."
"But pardon me, will--"
"Morning, morning--he, h-e-e."
"Yes, you silly ass, I know it is morning, but--"
"Yes, yes; morning, morning--he-e-e-e-e."
He then made for the door, not the least abashed. Later he came back,
and invited me to speak Chinese, probably thinking that I was wondering
why he had made such an absolute fool of himself. I learned that this
august gentleman possessed a name in happy correspondence with a fowl
("Chi"). He pointed contemptuously to a member of that feather tribe as
he told me. Whether he could speak Chinese when he was or was not at
Chen-tu, or whether he had a son whose knowledge of my language was
vast, and who was at that moment at Chen-tu, I could not quite fathom,
and he could not explain. He had a look at my caravan generally, and
then turned his scrutiny upon my common tweeds, informing me that the
quality bore no comparison with his own. He could travel in a four-man
chair; I had to _walk_.
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