A little boy yelled out to his mother in complaint of the food he had
been given by a feminine twelve-year-old, his sister. The mother
immediately became furious beyond all control. She snatched a bamboo to
belabor the girl, and in chasing her knocked over the pun of pots
aforesaid. The place became a Bedlam. Men rose from their seats, and
with their mouths full of rice expostulated in vainest mediation, waving
their chopsticks in the air, and whilst the mother turned upon them in
grossest abuse the daughter cleared out at the back of the premises. I
left the irate parent brandishing the bamboo; her voice was heard beyond
the town.
But I was not allowed to leave the town. All the intellect of the place
had assembled in one of the shops, into which I was gently drawn by the
coat sleeve by a good-natured, well-dressed humpback, and all of the men
assembled began an examination as to who the dignitary was, his
honorable age, the number of the wives, sons and daughters he possessed,
with inevitable questioning into the concerns of his patriarchal
forbears. Accordingly I once again searched the archives of my elastic
memory, and there found all information readily accessible, so that in
a few moments, by the aid of Bailer's _Primer_, I had explained that I
was a stranger within their gates, wafted thither by circumstances
extraordinarily auspicious, and had satisfied them concerning my
parentage, birthplace, prospects and pursuits, with introspective
anecdotal references to various deceased members of my family tree.
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