Bags of paddy,
old chairs (the low stool of the Shan, with a thirty-inch back), drawers
of copper cash, brooms, a few old spears, pots of pork fat, barrels of
wine (the same as I had blistered the foot of a pony with), two or three
old p'u-kai, worn-out clothes, disused ladies' shoes, babies' gear, and
last of all the man himself appeared. Men and women set to to clean up,
an old woman clasped me to her bosom, and I was bidden to enter. New
Year festivities were for the nonce neglected for the novel delight of
gazing upon the inner domesticity of this traveling wonder, into his
very holy of holies. I received nine invitations to dinner. I dined with
mine host and his six sons.
Through the heavy evening murk a dull clangor stirred the air--the
tolling of shrill bells and the beating of dull gongs, and all the
hideous paraphernalia of Eastern celebrations. The populace--Shan almost
to a man--were bent on seeing me, a task rendered difficult by the
gathering darkness of night. Soldiers guarded the way, and there were
several broken heads. They came, stared and wondered, and then passed
away for others to come in shoals, laughingly, and seeming no longer to
harbor the hostile feelings apparent as I entered the town.
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