./AX
 
 The Street of a Thousand delights
 
 The Street of a 
 Thousand ^Delights 
 
 By JAY GELZER 
 
 New York 
 
 . ZMcBride & Company
 
 Copyright, 1921, by 
 ROBERT M. McBuiDE & Co. 
 
 Printed in the 
 United States of America 
 
 Published June, 1921
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 The Chinese Lily 1 
 
 The Blue Eyes of Wang Hai ...... 31 
 
 In the Street of a Thousand Delights .... 67 
 
 The Gorgeous Jest 101 
 
 "Mei-Li the Beautiful" 131 
 
 China Rose . . . 165 
 
 " The Gold Lacquered Box 195 
 
 A Prince of China . 235 
 
 21 2
 
 THE CHINESE LILY
 
 THERE is no reason whatever, at first 
 glance, why the thoughts of Sen Yeng, fat 
 John Chinaman sitting in the doorway of 
 his shop in Melbourne like some obese spider 
 awaiting unwary prey, should roam out per 
 sistently to Nels Larsen, striding to and fro 
 over the narrow bridge of a tramp steamer 
 laboring through heavy seas. 
 
 To look at Sen Yeng in his black satin coat 
 and skull cap, his face with its three chins plac 
 idly benignant, is to imagine that his reflec 
 tions, perhaps faintly tinged with poppy smoke, 
 are of cormorants fishing in the rivers of Soo- 
 chow, or of soft breezes blowing through pa 
 pery leaves of bamboo with perhaps the slim 
 sickle of a new moon overhead ; or even of tem 
 ple bells at twilight, their soft mellow tones 
 mingled with the voices of shaven-headed, scar 
 let-robed priests chanting in the dusk. 
 
 And to look at Sailor Nels with his bold blue 
 eyes is to imagine him living over again some 
 bout in a barroom thick with smoke, or think 
 ing back to kisses won and taken in various 
 
 [3]
 
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 lands. A gay, laughing life, that of Nels Lar- 
 sen, mate of the Sallie 0., not overburdened with 
 regrets or colored with sentiment. Yet in the 
 blackness of the midnight watch he is apt to 
 fondle a bit of rare carven jade, and to him 
 the perfume of sandalwood is bittersweet, 
 bringing back as it does the vision of a flushed 
 face with wide dark eyes and blue-black hair 
 winding into the curls of the Occident and the 
 sound of a lisping voice trilling out in the lan 
 guage of lovers. 
 
 There is, of course, a reason why the thoughts 
 of Sen Yeng follow Nels Larsen half across 
 the world. The Chinese Lily represents the 
 reason, and to get at the story of Lily it is 
 necessary first to go back a term of years and 
 tell a little of the story of her mother. 
 
 She was at least nine-tenths white, that 
 mother of Lily, and upon whose shoulders 
 should rest the blame for that mixture of blood 
 has never been known. But because of it both 
 races, yellow and white, disowned her, and she 
 had a hard life of it, hanging around on the 
 utmost fringe of tolerance, accepting the kind 
 words which fell to her lot with gratitude, and 
 accepting the far too frequent blows and abuse 
 with a sort of cowed lack of protest. They 
 say, those few who really knew her, that she 
 
 [4]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 would have liked to be honest, that whatever 
 depths of degradation she slipped into were the 
 result of her youth, her forlornness, and the 
 fixed inequality of the struggle between the 
 sexes. And that, regardless of the black chap 
 ters in her sordid, unclean youth, there yet 
 olung to her a sort of fastidiousness and gen 
 tleness, together with a frail beauty pitiful in 
 its wistfulness. 
 
 However that may be, the beauty of Mamie 
 that was what she called herself, and it was 
 as good a name as any bloomed upon inap- 
 preciative eyes in the public house of Sidney, 
 where she was first, and in Melbourne, to which 
 she came later. To those demanding ruddy 
 cheeks, bright eyes, buxom figures, and lively 
 repartee, her white, little, heart-shaped face, 
 her too large eyes, her delicacy of line, the 
 pathetic showing of fine bones in her tender 
 throat, even her wonderful bronze hair failed 
 to appeal. Life crowded her relentlessly 
 against that wall beyond which lies annihila 
 tion. And stubbornly, with that gameness 
 which characterized her from the beginning, 
 Mamie employed all her resources in a losing 
 battle, although as she herself discouragedly 
 said : * Gawd knows why I m that bent on keep- 
 in* breath in this yere body o mine. I ain t 
 
 [5]
 
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 found life what yer might call no bed o roses ! 
 
 Only Nat Hong Ku, wealthy Chinaman in the 
 Chinese quarter, upon whose poetic vision she 
 had dawned with the loveliness of a lotus flower 
 newly unfolded, or of a willow tree suddenly 
 clothed in the tender leafage of spring, realized 
 to the full that wistful, hungering, pathetic 
 beauty, the contemplation of which filled him 
 to overflowing with sheer delight. 
 
 Sometimes, on his quick, silent progress 
 through a crowd, he glimpsed her face briefly 
 as some far off star shining in the murk. And 
 always the tiny shiver of sheer delight ran like 
 flame through him as he pictured to himself 
 that beauty freed of the eclipse of cheap finery 
 and furnished with the proper setting. Before 
 the resulting picture his artistic senses quivered 
 with appreciation. Even in his folly he con 
 sidered the idea of marrying Mamie, but Sun 
 Yat, the yellow soothsayer, advised against the 
 match. 
 
 "Only from the tree which is sound cometh 
 sound fruit!" he intoned, quoting an ancient 
 Chinese proverb as he cast down a handful 
 of painted ivory sticks and showed Nat Hong 
 Ku that the omens were unfavorable. 
 
 "True, Honorable Brother!" responded 
 Nat Hong Ku cannily. "And how should a 
 
 [6]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 tree be judged unless by the fruit?" Where 
 upon he put the idea out of mind. 
 
 And there perhaps it all would have ended, 
 except that there came a day when Mamie, 
 walking up the road from the waterway, shiver 
 ing a bit in the raw air in her thin jacket, the 
 wilted ostrich feather trailing from her hat, as 
 jaded in appearance as she was in spirit, ac 
 knowledged the game was up. She was penni 
 less and she was tired. And she was cold and 
 hungry. The night before a sailor from an 
 unknown ship had first cheated her with prom 
 ises and then filched her purse and what cheap 
 jewelry she had. 
 
 11 There just ain t no honor among men any 
 how," brooded poor Mamie miserably, blink 
 ing away a tear or two. "Might as well chuck 
 it now as any time!" 
 
 Passing her at that very moment was Nat 
 Hong Ku. In one swift instant he saw and 
 understood the unshed tears, the forlorn des 
 peration of her small face, and such a thrill of 
 pity and love shot through him that he forgot 
 to be cautious, desiring only to protect and 
 cherish the object of his secret adoration. 
 Putting out one sinewy yellow hand, he caught 
 Mamie by her frail arm, his heart melting with 
 pity at the very realization of her frailty. 
 
 [7]
 
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 "You come along with me?" he suggested 
 tentatively. "You marry with me, I give you 
 everything you want?" 
 
 "Me?" gasped the amazed Mamie, looking 
 up into the narrow, powerful face above her 
 and felt suddenly bathed in the veritable flood 
 of protective kindness and love which issued 
 from Nat Hong Ku s quiet dark eyes, the one- 
 tenth yellow blood in her drawing to him as 
 nothing else could have done. * * Won t I just ! 
 she sighed thankfully. Then, downcast: "Does 
 yer know about me? I m wantin ter be square 
 with yer." 
 
 Nat Hong Ku waved a graceful hand to show 
 his indifference. "What is past is past," he 
 observed philosophically in his perfect English. 
 "A lily grows in the mud, but it is none the 
 less a lily." 
 
 The marriage was happy. Mamie, steeped 
 to drowsy content in the age-old atmosphere 
 of another world, blossomed to unsuspected 
 charm and beauty. Nat Hong Ku showered 
 gifts upon her rare silks from China, curious 
 ornaments of jade and beaten silver, even a 
 great ebony bed inlaid with pearl and hung with 
 scarlet and gold draperies. He never tired of 
 the picture of Mamie reclining upon that costly 
 
 [8]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 bed, rich fabrics piled to her small pointed chin, 
 all the wealth and glory of her bronze hair 
 trailing loose. Sometimes, sitting beside her 
 in a carved teakwood chair, he would recite 
 Cantonese love poems, and, leaning down, 
 press a handful of that wonderful hair to his 
 lips in mute ecstasy of adoration. 
 
 Mamie, half shy, half amused, would laugh 
 a laugh full of all the cadences of a string of 
 silver bells. "Ye re a queer one, ain t yer, 
 Chinky? Actin like I m some sort er bloomin* 
 idol ! she would say. 
 
 As for Mamie, she accepted her new life 
 with Nat Hong Ku with utter content. The 
 freedom from noise, from blows, and from ugli 
 ness filled her with such passionate gratitude 
 that she deplored her inability to love him. 
 
 "Gawd knows I d love yer if I could!" she 
 would say dejectedly. "But it ain t in me no 
 more to love anybody, that it ain t." Where 
 fore she desired all the more intensely to give 
 flesh to the one big ambition of Nat Hong Ku s 
 life a son to pray him into paradise. 
 
 Her disappointment, when time produced a 
 daughter instead of the much desired son, was 
 pitiful. 
 
 "It ain t my fault, Chinky," she said to Nat 
 Hong Ku, sitting attentively beside her. 
 
 [9]
 
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 "Gawd knows I done me best." Tears hung 
 upon her fringed eyelashes. 
 
 Nat Hong Ku, smothering his own disap 
 pointment, bent down to reassure her, smooth 
 ing back her disordered hair with a gentle hand. 
 
 "Grieve not, my Lotus Bloom," he soothed. 
 
 A pause followed. Then, without any great 
 amount of interest or reluctance, rather indif 
 ferently in fact: "I m blinkin out," said 
 Mamie. 
 
 "You are dying," assented Nat Hong Ku 
 sorrowfully. 
 
 Another pause during which Mamie remem 
 bered Nat Hong Ku s great kindness to her. 
 1 Ye re been good ter me," she murmured ap 
 preciatively. "Yer kept yer word all right, all 
 right; ye re been awful good ter me." 
 
 "Stronger than steel chains upon flesh is the 
 word of Nat Hong Ku upon his soul," pro 
 claimed Nat Hong Ku with austere dignity. 
 Lighting fresh incense before the shrine in the 
 corner, he began intoning the prayer for a de 
 parting soul. 
 
 Mamie interrupted him fretfully. "The 
 kid " she said abruptly. "Don t raise her in 
 a stuffy, stinky, closed tight room, Chinky, 
 lookin* out on things through a closed winder. 
 Eaise her raise her white." Another pause. 
 
 [10]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Let her be free see?" concluded Mamie 
 vaguely. 
 
 "It shall be so," promised Nat Hong Ku. 
 Again with shaking fingers he struck the bronze 
 gong and began the prayer for a departing 
 soul. . . . 
 
 This, then, is why the daughter of Nat Hong 
 Ku, wealthy Chinese merchant of Melbourne, 
 was given the freedom and education of a white 
 child. The name he called her stood for The 
 Bud Which Is Born of a Lotus Bloom. Lily, 
 her teachers called her. And altogether he 
 spent an entirely disproportionate amount 
 upon her education for a mere girl child born 
 to the tending of cook pots and the bearing of 
 men children. 
 
 A strange child, Lily, differing utterly in all 
 her naughty, elfish ways from the sedate chil 
 dren of Chinatown with their stolidness and 
 their absurd dignity. Black eyes only slightly 
 slanting, blue-black hair winding into heavy 
 curls, skin of the texture of a tea rose, she was 
 to all intents and purposes entirely white 
 which was in itself a tragedy. 
 
 To see Lily at sixteen, spending her life rest 
 lessly in the dim recesses of her father s great 
 store, was to see some wonderful figurine, 
 [11]
 
 carved by forgotten fingers, suddenly come to 
 life amid the perfume of sandalwood and spice. 
 And to see her floating down the water road of 
 Melbourne in her satin trousers, a flaming flower 
 in the blue-black coils above her small pink 
 ears, was to gasp with amazement at some im 
 possible vision. She was rather surprisingly 
 lovely in a vivid, exotic way the straight deli 
 cacy of feature found in the high caste Chinese, 
 heavy bangs cut square across her forehead, 
 all Mamie s wistful, hungering appeal warmed 
 by something more restless and challenging. 
 Sydenham of the British Consulate said he 
 never saw Lily without realizing the tragedy 
 of white blood enmeshed in yellow, without 
 hearing the fluttering of wings against a cage, 
 without realizing to the fullest what a prison 
 life can be. 
 
 Naturally in a town full of the dregs of life, 
 such loveliness unprotected by the inhibition 
 of pure white blood did not go unremarked. 
 Surprisingly enough, however, neither by word 
 nor deed was insult offered to Lily, daughter 
 of Nat Hong Ku, there being, of course, a 
 reason. 
 
 For instance, Bill Awkins of the Ireland 
 Rose, clutching the arm of his pal in genuine 
 alarm as Lily went past : 
 
 [12]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Fer Gawd s sake, Matey, don t go lampin* 
 that bit o yellow calico! Her dad s the rich 
 est Chink in Melbourne, chopsticks set with dia 
 monds an all, head o the biggest Chinese tong 
 in town. One o his men 11 knife yer straight 
 ter ell if yer go worriting that gel o his." 
 
 "Gor sakes!" breathed his companion fer 
 vently, creepy chills frisking up a limp back 
 bone, bulging eyes riveted on an inconspicuous 
 figure nearby, arms folded, shoulders hunched. 
 "I ain t got no eyes fer that bit o cloth a-tall, 
 a-tall!" 
 
 The life of Lily ought to be told in a series of 
 flashbacks like a movie and not compressed, 
 within the meager limits of a few thousand 
 words: Lily, standing straight and slim in the 
 doorway of her father s shop, her brooding eyes 
 under their heavy black bangs watching the 
 mixed crowd flowing by, pondering over her in 
 evitable sense of withdrawal from the yellow 
 race; Lily, standing on one of the two great 
 landing piers in the harbor, wistfully regarding 
 the ships setting sail for countries she would 
 never see ; Lily, dreaming in her window in the 
 moonlight, yearning for something different 
 than she had ever known, failing to understand, 
 in the impulse which one day was entirely satis 
 fied in the perfumes and silks and rare mer- 
 
 [13]
 
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 chandise of the shop and another day cried out 
 for great spaces filled with wind and flowers and 
 sunshine, the tragedy of her mixed blood there 
 are so many Lilys which could be shown, each 
 carrying an appeal for understanding. 
 
 There came a time when the girl was ripe for 
 love, as ripe as some sun-warmed peach hang 
 ing in a sheltered garden. And Nat Hong Ku, 
 seeing her dreaming eyes, taking note of her fits 
 of impatience and revolt, narrowed his own eyes 
 thoughtfully, uneasily remembering Mamie and 
 the unknown ancestors back of her. "Only 
 from the sound tree cometh sound fruit . . ." 
 he murmured to himself more than once. 
 
 Then, while Lily tugged and strained at the 
 anchorage of her sheltered life like some trim 
 sailing vessel anxious to sail for parts unknown, 
 two things happened which were to govern 
 and control her destiny as the trade winds 
 would have governed the course of that same 
 boat. 
 
 From the open seas a rusty little tramp 
 steamer drifted into Melbourne for repairs, 
 carrying as mate Nels Larsen with his sea blue 
 eyes and pink and white and gold viking color 
 ing. 
 
 And from Shanghai Sen Yeng, brother mer 
 chant of Nat Hong Ku, received word of the 
 
 [14]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 death of his only son. No calamity could have 
 been greater, and not even the news of the gor 
 geous burial in a scarlet coffin ornamented with 
 green and gold dragons, with its accompani 
 ment of a dozen Buddhist priests, robed in scar 
 let and chanting the blessing of the dead, could 
 soothe his grief. Nor could May Ling, his wife, 
 lend consolation. Sen Yeng grieved mightily, 
 neglecting his business, scorning the tempting 
 meals of fish and rice and preserved ginger 
 May Ling prepared for him, spending his time 
 in idleness, consuming great quantities of 
 Chinese rice whiskey, and brooding sullenly 
 over the blow which had smitten his life in 
 twain. 
 
 And at last, coming in on him where he re 
 clined in a dejected stupor, smoking from a 
 tiny pipe tasseled in scarlet, May Ling made 
 to him a potent suggestion. 
 
 "To the flowers are given buds, to the trees 
 are given fruit, but to the withered bough is 
 not even given leaves," she said quietly, set 
 tling herself beside him. Picking up a pair of 
 tiny silver pincers she filled another pipe for 
 herself, taking two long deliberate puffs with 
 feminine daintiness. 
 
 "It is true, Mother of a Son Who Is 
 Dead," assented Sen Yeng, regarding her 
 
 [15]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 scalp, painted black to conceal her baldness, 
 and her wrinkled old hands. 
 
 "Then " said May Ling, refilling her pipe 
 and sucking in a puff of smoke sharply, " to 
 the garden of our life must be added yet an 
 other tree ... a young tree which beareth 
 fruit," 
 
 Sen Yeng laid down his pipe. A long silence 
 followed. 
 
 * * There is San Me, daughter of the merchant 
 Yung Lo, suggested May Ling placidly. 
 
 "Nat Hong Ku has a daughter ..." re 
 marked Sen Yeng. His fancy went out swiftly 
 to Lily with her white face and dreaming eyes. 
 
 May Ling demurred. "The daughter of a 
 mother in whose veins flowed the blood of 
 foreign devils," she pointed out. 
 
 "A daughter whose beauty is that of the full 
 moon floating in a sea of clouds, pursued Sen 
 Yeng undisturbed. 
 
 "Only from the tree wliich is sound cometh 
 sound fruit/ insisted May Ling. 
 
 "... like a full moon in a sea of clouds!" 
 repeated Sen Yeng, narrowing his eyes as if in 
 contemplation of that beauty. "Are not her 
 eyes dark, is not her hair dark, is she not of our 
 race?" 
 
 "Where the blood calls, there will the heart 
 [16]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 follow," argued May Ling shrewdly. Then, 
 seeing his absorption, a twisted smile of resig 
 nation wreathed her thin lips. "When man 
 is determined upon folly, even words of wis 
 dom hold no meaning," finished May Ling 
 quietly. 
 
 After due reflection Sen Yeng took his digni 
 fied way to call upon Nat Hong Ku, moving 
 slowly in his inch thick felt slippers, hands 
 crossed decorously on his broad stomach. 
 Over a cup of finest Formosa tea steeped with 
 dried orange blossoms, he stated his errand, 
 subtly, with all the indirection of an Oriental 
 negotiating a business project. 
 
 "A great calamity has befallen my house," 
 he informed Nat Hong Ku, laying down his 
 empty cup upside down in token of plenty. His 
 great bulk draped around his small bones al 
 most in folds. His several chins rested against 
 his chest in complete repose. 
 
 "Doubtless you refer, Most Honorable 
 Brother, to the regrettable death of your re 
 spected son?" inquired Nat Hong Ku with 
 ready sympathy. 
 
 "Indeed so." 
 
 A pause, broken at length by Sen Yeng. 
 "My wife is too old to bear me another son," 
 [17]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 he said at length, as one offering further ca 
 lamitous news. 
 
 Nat Hong Ku murmured inarticulate sym 
 pathy. 
 
 "You have a daughter ..." Sen Yeng let 
 fall very casually. 
 
 "A most beautiful daughter," agreed Nat 
 Hong Ku cordially. 
 
 "Such a daughter is worth" Sen Yeng hesi 
 tated cannily "at least a thousand pounds 
 English," he finished, urged beyond his native 
 thrift by his memory of Lily s beauty. 
 
 "A most satisfactory match," returned Nat 
 Hong Ku tranquilly, and he meant it. For 
 Lily, with the offense of her foreign blood, Sen 
 Yeng with his wealth was a piece of very good 
 fortune. "There is, however," he said fur 
 ther, "the small matter of a promise to her 
 mother, unhappily dead." He related Mamie s 
 demand for her daughter. 
 
 Sen Yeng shrugged his fat shoulders. * Has 
 not my house doors and windows?" he que 
 ried. "Shall not these be always open!" 
 
 Palm met palm, the agreement was sealed. 
 Sen Yeng took his ponderous departure. On 
 the way home he stopped and drove a keen bar 
 gain with an English trader, observing to May 
 Ling later with much satisfaction : 
 [18]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "One hundred and twenty pounds profit on 
 the day s business, which shall be laid aside 
 for the son who will be mine." 
 
 May Ling said nothing. Nor did her expres 
 sion change, except perhaps for a brief flicker 
 ing of half closed eyelids. 
 
 Over his evening meal of stewed duck, pigeon 
 eggs, and fried batter, Nat Hong Ku, helping 
 himself finally to ginger from a blue Canton 
 jar, told his news to Lily, pensively crumbling 
 snowy rice with a silver fork. Even in her 
 table manners Lily was white. 
 
 "Next week you go with your belongings to 
 the house of my honorable friend, Sen Yeng," 
 he told Lily in his gentle, almost indifferent 
 voice. 
 
 An odd sound escaped Lily. The silver fork 
 clattered to the table. 
 
 "Sen Yeng!" she said breathlessly. "He is 
 very old and fat ! 
 
 Nat Hong Ku raised his eyes. Next week, 
 he repeated inexorably, "you go with your be 
 longings to the house of my friend, Sen Yeng. 
 It is arranged." 
 
 Lily pushed back her chair, escaping from the 
 room as from a danger which threatened. Up 
 stairs at the window which looked out over 
 [19]
 
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 gable roofs gilded with late afternoon sunshine, 
 she watched for a time a great white slug feed 
 ing upon a dwarf rosebush, reminded in some 
 obscure way of Sen Yeng and his fat. 
 
 Finally, fleeing the sight, she went down the 
 water road to her favorite pastime of watching 
 the ships newly come from lands of mystery. 
 Sitting there on the steps at the very end of the 
 pier, so near the water that she drew back her 
 feet with each succeeding heavy swell, the soft 
 damp sea wind curling her hair into tiny 
 spirals, she gave herself up to the burning re 
 sentment and rebellion which seethed through 
 her. Life, to Lily, had seemed some wonderful 
 adventure, always on the very point of begin 
 ning. But now the future would hold only Sen 
 Yeng and his three chins, Sen Yeng, whose very 
 name was like the touch of a clumsy hand upon 
 her dreams. Tears welled up in her slightly 
 slanting dark eyes, scarlet touched her cheeks. 
 
 And it was upon this picture Nels Larsen 
 stumbled, his great white throat bared to the 
 breeze as he idled along to the end of the pier 
 for a smoke. 
 
 "Some looker I" he said involuntarily, noting 
 the small clenched hands, the slender silken 
 ankles below the blue suit, the scarlet flowers 
 against blue-black hair. 
 
 [20]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 The clenched hands relaxed. Youth will not 
 be cheated of its romance, and Lily may have 
 felt, looking up at the pink and white and gold 
 strength of Nels Larsen, that he offered some 
 thing which would never come again. Or may 
 be the something wild in him called to some 
 thing equally wild in her. At any rate she 
 smiled : a smile which was a distinct invitation. 
 
 With much deliberation Nels sat down beside 
 her, laughing as an ambitious wave broke over 
 his feet. Then with an expertness which ar 
 gued much practice, he slid one arm around 
 Lily. 
 
 "Waiting for me, sweetness?" he suggested 
 impudently. 
 
 And, finding in that rough caress something 
 more satisfying than the suavities of the yellow 
 men who were her father s intimates, Lily 
 smiled again. "I have been waiting one ver 
 long time," she said to Nels Larsen in her 
 pretty, slightly foreign way. 
 
 If this were to be the story of Lily and Nels 
 Larsen much could be written of their swiftly 
 ripening acquaintance. Of, for instance, that 
 very next night when Nels came to the pier 
 half angry. 
 
 "You ve fair bewitched me," he accused. 
 [21]
 
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 "I ain t claiming to be no blooming angel I ve 
 given and taken kisses where I could get em. 
 It s a man s life, me being free n all. But 
 last night in the eating house there was a girl 
 what fancied me. And I couldn t lay as much 
 as my little finger on her for your face stand 
 ing between. Me! And I m not wanting to 
 be that fond of any woman on earth, I m not. 
 
 Or of another night when he held both her 
 small fluttering hands in his, speaking very 
 seriously. " Ain t it queer now," he said 
 thoughtfully, "here I am, from way the other 
 side of the world, and you with a yellow dad 
 and all, but the first time I set my eyes on yer 
 I knew as you were meant for me. We re kin 
 somehow, my Chinese Lily. And ye re white 
 at heart, my girl. Don t ever be forgetting 
 that!" 
 
 Or of still another night when Nels, moved 
 by the hint of something tragic which clung to 
 Lily, feeling himself the fluttering of wings 
 against the bars of a cage, was moved to be 
 still more serious. "If I was captain now in 
 stead of mate, I d be taking you right along o* 
 me when we sail," he told her uneasily. "But 
 I ll be coming back, Lily-girl. I ll be back." 
 He tightened his arms around her, crowding 
 his cheek roughly against hers. 
 
 [22]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Lily felt upward in the starlit darkness and 
 laid one hand upon his eyes. "Dear blue eyes 
 I have so adore ! she whispered, perhaps think 
 ing of the small eyes of Sen Yeng encased in 
 yellow fat. She had not spoken of Sen Yeng 
 to Nels. Why vex him with knowledge she her 
 self found unsupportable, especially when no 
 good could come of it? 
 
 Then there was that last night when they 
 sat long hours cheek to cheek in an intimacy of 
 thought which required no words until the first 
 opalescent mists of dawn tinged the sky. She 
 gave him at parting a carved jade charm set 
 with sapphires. * To keep you safe from harm 
 . . . and happy," she told him tremulously. 
 
 And Nels, not knowing he was not to see Lily 
 again, smiled at her earnestness and thrust it 
 carelessly into his pocket. "You ve given me 
 yer luck, I ll give yer mine." 
 
 From his own neck he took a pierced coin 
 slung on a leather cord and put it around her 
 slimmer neck. Lily looked up at him with a 
 twisted smile, thinking of the future with Sen 
 Yeng so ominously impending and which no 
 charm could ward away. 
 
 "Dear blue eyes " she said, and her voice 
 was blurred with the sound of unshed tears. 
 
 "Love o me life, don t yer know I ll be com- 
 [23]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 ing back as soon as soon?" assured Nels Larsen 
 anxiously. " Don t yer know that, my Chinese 
 Lily?" 
 
 Later that same morning Lily, coming to the 
 old familiar place haunted still by the pres 
 ence of Nels with his magic voice and his laugh 
 ing eyes, uttered a strange longing cry. Where 
 the Sallie 0. had been was an empty space. 
 For a long time she sat looking very steadily 
 at the waves breaking just below her feet, but 
 in the end she went back to the shop of Nat 
 Hong Ku, and the very next day she went 
 to the house of Sen Yeng, accompanied by 
 chests full of garments heavy with pearls 
 and embroideries. Nat Hong Ku had not 
 been niggardly in the wedding finery of his 
 daughter. 
 
 May Ling made her welcome. She was even 
 kind to her. Sen Yeng himself was radiant, 
 presenting her with a wonderful robe from Can 
 ton made of satin heavy enough to stand alone, 
 and bracelets of snowy jade set with emeralds, 
 which Lily let lie unheeded where he had placed 
 them. Hour after hour she sat at a window 
 facing toward the sea, tracing in her mind the 
 laboring path of the Sallie 0. 
 
 May Ling remonstrated at last. "The horse 
 which will not be led must be driven," she said 
 [24]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 to Lily firmly. "Not thus is the manner of a 
 bride come to an honorable household. 
 
 Lily looked up with heavy eyes. "The heart 
 knoweth its own," she retorted. "Shall there 
 be a rejoicing where there is no joy?" 
 
 "The heart of a Chinese woman is a caged 
 bird," pointed out May Ling with something of 
 sadness. "Once in China, from my father s 
 garden " she shut her lips firmly upon the 
 reminiscence. "Look upon the giver of rich 
 gifts at least with politeness, she admonished. 
 "All this will be forgotten when you are mother 
 of a son." 
 
 "Is not my blood white, and does not white 
 blood call for freedom f demanded Lily. * Are 
 these things to be forgotten ? Impatiently she 
 turned away, clutching the coin around her 
 neck. 
 
 In the days which followed Lily came to wear 
 in due time that patient stolid look found in 
 Oriental women of a possessed woman hating 
 the possessor. Not but that Sen Yeng was very 
 kind and gentle, more than kind, in fact, after 
 he himself began to wear the radiant look of a 
 man whose dearest wish is to be gratified. In 
 The Gathering Place of the Most High, where 
 he went to mingle with his kind and indulge in 
 [35]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 an occasional game of fan tan, a son was freely 
 predicted, and Sen Yeng would come back beam 
 ing with. joy. 
 
 "0 Branch Which Beareth the Bud of Life," 
 he would say to Lily, lying inertly on the bed 
 of ebony and pearl which had been Mamie s, 
 her eyes on the window looking seaward, "many 
 shall be the gifts which shall be yours on the 
 birthday of my son." 
 
 And Lily, listening, would smile a queer little 
 smile in which mirth and defiance were subtly 
 blended. 
 
 Once, however, he made complaint to Nat 
 Hong Ku in some distress of mind, genuinely 
 worried over the girl. "The song bird which 
 I have removed from your honorable house to 
 my less worthy dwelling place sings no longer," 
 he said plaintively. 
 
 * Soon come little birds and then the mother 
 bird will sing," reassured Nat Hong Ku plac 
 idly. But after his visitor had gone he sat 
 long in thought, eyes narrowed in his lean, 
 powerful face. 
 
 Then came a day when the long-awaited son 
 became an actual fact, and May Ling went down 
 to where Sen Yeng sat waiting in anticipation. 
 
 "A man child?" he inquired anxiously, and 
 at her murmur of assent, he indicated a pile 
 [26]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 of articles beside him. "Gifts for the mother 
 of my son," he explained happily. "A pound 
 of the finest tea, for which I have paid three 
 pounds wholesale, a necklace of hammered gold 
 set with rubies, the finest of satins for new 
 garments " 
 
 "All these you will not give," disputed May 
 Ling. "One gift and one alone you will give 
 instead." 
 
 "And that!" His little eyes blinked at her, 
 half in fear. 
 
 "In the scarlet chest with the carved dragons 
 is a silver filigree bottle ..." said May Ling 
 in a voice barely above a whisper. 
 
 Sen Yeng turned purplish. His breath 
 whistled through coarse sagging lips. He 
 looked at May Ling imploringly. "But the sil 
 ver bottle is the gift of an honorable husband 
 to an unfaithful wife ! " he chattered. 
 
 "Even so," agreed May Ling. "Yet what 
 gift more suitable for the mother of a blue-eyed 
 son a pink and white and gold son with eyes 
 bluer than the sea!" 
 
 Presently, looking older and more shrunken, 
 as if his fat had somehow sagged upon him, Sen 
 Yeng went to where Lily reclined against pil 
 lows of scarlet and purple and gold on the great 
 ebony and pearl bed. 
 
 [27]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 "I come bearing a gift in hand, O Mother of 
 a Son," he said politely. 
 
 "I am unworthy," objected Lily, wearily 
 courteous. 
 
 Sen Yeng sucked in his breath sharply. 
 "None more worthy, Mother of a Blue-eyed 
 Son, he protested. Deign to accept. And 
 from the protection of his wide sleeve he held 
 out the silver bottle. 
 
 Lying back utterly relaxed against her pil 
 lows, her face pearl white, her blue-black hair 
 drawn back from her forehead, showing the 
 point in which it grew, Lily regarded the out 
 stretched hand without visible change of ex 
 pression. If, indeed, at that moment any emo 
 tion claimed her, it was a feeling of triumph 
 over the defeating of those fellow conspirators, 
 Nat Hong Ku and Sen Yeng, who had sought 
 to cheat her of the cup of life from which she 
 had drunk so deeply. 
 
 After a moment she put out her own smaller, 
 whiter, slimmer hand and took the tiny bottle 
 into her own clasp took it, indeed, with some 
 thing of gladness, perhaps seeing in it a door of 
 escape from a future which oppressed her with 
 its narrow limitations and its lack of joy. 
 
 "What matter the price paid for golden 
 hours?" she said to Sen Yeng, ecstasy flooding 
 [28]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 her face as her thoughts went to Nels Larsen. 
 * Though it be a million years until I rejoin my 
 Beloved, yet will I not forget I For what is 
 to-day ... or to-morrow ... or yesterday?" 
 
 "It is true," acquiesced Sen Yeng humbly, 
 himself sensing the flutter of wings against 
 bars. 
 
 But Lily had forgotten Sen Yeng. One hand 
 went up to the pierced coin. 
 
 "Dear blue eyes I have so adore!" she sighed, 
 sending a last incoherent greeting of love across 
 trackless wastes to Nels Larsen on the Sallie 0. 
 
 With tears of pity running down his fat 
 cheeks, unable to look upon the destruction of 
 so much youth and beauty, Sen Yeng turned 
 and went out, going down to sit upon his door 
 step in the sunshine, just a fat old Chinaman 
 whose thoughts, instead of roaming out to an 
 unknown blue-eyed sailor, should have been of 
 plum and cherry blossoms in a Chinese garden. 
 Or perhaps of square-sailed junks floating 
 down silent rivers like shadows. 
 
 Later May Ling joined him there. "It is 
 over," she said in a hushed tone. "The soul 
 of the Chinese Lily has gone out like an ex 
 tinguished flame." Then, more assertively: 
 "Only from the tree which is sound . . ." she 
 began, 
 
 [29]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 But Sen Yeng interrupted. "Once, in 
 China," lie said solemnly, "a butterfly floated 
 into the temple garden where I had gone to 
 feed the tortoises. And I wanted it. More 
 than I ever had wanted anything before, did I 
 want that butterfly. And I ran and ran until 
 my fat legs were tired and my head was dizzy. 
 And at last I caught it. But when I looked at 
 the pretty thing it had crumbled to a heap of 
 dust in my hot grasp. And my heart was filled 
 with sorrow and I wept loudly. And presently 
 came one of the priests from the temple, a very 
 old and wise man. And he stood above me, 
 looking down upon me with sad eyes. 
 
 " You should have let it fly in the sun,* he 
 said to me." 
 
 Sen Yeng paused, looking with vacant eyes 
 at the silent May Ling. 
 
 You should have let it fly in the sun ; it was 
 not meant for you, the old priest said to me," 
 he repeated, as the thin wail of a very young 
 child floated through the air. 
 
 [30]
 
 THE BLUE EYES OF WANG 
 HAI
 
 SEN YENG, with his three chins and black 
 satin coat and his look of a drowsing 
 Buddha, is a leading merchant in the Chi 
 nese quarter of Melbourne. 
 
 In the fore part of his shop, its embroidered 
 panels setting forth elaborately the Five 
 Chinese Virtues, he does a prosperous business 
 in tea, spices, and raw silks, doing a no less 
 prosperous business in the rear, where slant- 
 eyed Mongolians in the blue cotton of their 
 native land slink stealthily in, purchasing small 
 innocent-seeming packages of cheap tea for 
 some fifty or sixty pounds English. Lest this 
 price seem incredible, let it here be explained 
 that these innocent-seeming packages of ordi 
 nary tea, expertly opened, disclose in their 
 innocuous depths the black gum of crude opium. 
 
 So, altogether, Sen Yeng is a man of wealth 
 and substance on that street known as The 
 Street of a Thousand Delights, subtly deferred 
 to in The Gathering Place of the Most High, 
 where he mingles with his kind, and likewise 
 in the establishment of Wong Ting Fu, with its 
 [33]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 ebony bunks and expensive pipes, where he 
 goes to merge in opalescent poppy smoke the 
 drab reality of life in Melbourne with the more 
 picturesque life of the land from which he came, 
 seeing again in his tinted dreams the pointed 
 roofs of temples sharp against the turquoise 
 skies and hillsides pink and mauve with 
 azaleas. 
 
 In the crowded rooms above his shop, May 
 Ling, his plump little wife with the tiny feet 
 of a highborn Chinese woman, shares his pros 
 perity, spending her days embroidering or lis 
 tening to the tales of blind Sing Lu, who earns 
 his daily rice painting word pictures of glories 
 he will never see, while an amah imported from 
 China busies herself on her less ornamental 
 but more useful feet preparing the meals of 
 snowy rice, dried ducks, and other dainties with 
 which the family of the prosperous Sen Yeng 
 are amply supplied. 
 
 So, altogether, life falls in very pleasant 
 lines for Sen Yeng himself, for May Ling, his 
 wife, and for Wing Chun, his adopted son. 
 Only sometimes, sipping deep of the cup of 
 adulation extended by his less fortunate as 
 sociates, Sen Yeng remembers Wang Hai, his 
 blue-eyed son, and for just a second the heady 
 wine of flattery is tinged with the bitterness 
 
 [34]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 of futility. But instantly, being a man of wis 
 dom, he rallies, and from his coarse, sagging 
 lips, as he fans slowly, beaming on the as 
 sembled company with his sleepy, Buddha-like 
 face, a pearl of thought drops : 
 
 "A wise man does not trouble the clear 
 mirror of his soul with the shadow of what is 
 past," he pronounces importantly. "As a 
 Mohammedan faces East in his morning 
 prayer, the wise man faces toward the future 
 in his daily life ! f 
 
 A murmur of discreet admiration follows, 
 and once more life is pleasant for Sen 
 Yeng, prosperous Chinese merchant of Mel 
 bourne. . . . 
 
 Back in that past which still has power to 
 trouble the tranquil life of Sen Yeng occurred 
 the birth of Wang Hai and the death of The 
 Chinese Lily, his mother, second wife of Sen 
 Yeng, in all her youth and beauty. After her 
 death Sen Yeng, always the man of business, 
 devoted himself with redoubled ardor to driv 
 ing shrewd bargains with his keen Mongolian 
 brain, intent only upon the piling up of a com 
 fortable fortune and the rearing of his son, 
 Wang Hai, to do honor to his name when he 
 had passed on. During the childhood of Wang 
 Hai there were about Sen Yeng only three 
 [35]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 things of unusnal significance: The closed 
 and bolted room in his dwelling-place which 
 was never opened; his hatred of the sea and 
 all things pertaining thereto ; and the blue eyes 
 of his son, Wang Hai. 
 
 And these things, seemingly so unrelated, yet 
 had a subtle bearing upon each other, having 
 as the center of their reason of being The 
 Chinese Lily, dead in her fresh young beauty. 
 
 Sen Yeng himself never spoke of these 
 things, wrapping himself round in an impene 
 trable armor of contentment. 
 
 "Only two things are necessary to the con 
 tentment of a philosopher . . ." he would in 
 form his interested audience from one of the 
 ebony bunks in the establishment of Wong Ting 
 Fu, gesticulating with a carved peachwood pipe 
 tasseled in scarlet, "... a full stomach and a 
 son to worship at his grave. And both of these 
 through the grace of the Lord Buddha are 
 mine ! 
 
 "And is that all?" would query Wong Ting 
 Fu the Manchu softly, his thin lips twisted with 
 something close to contempt, his eyes misted 
 with a softer emotion as his thoughts went to 
 his blind, golden-haired wife, Rosy May. 
 "Are you not forgetting love, Honorable 
 Merchant?" 
 
 [36]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Not wanted!" would retort Sen Yeng then, 
 a rancorous bitterness underlying his words. 
 "Love I leave to the poets or to a Manchu like 
 yourself, O Highly Eespected One. For my 
 self, I am a plain man of business, not a man 
 of sentiment. For me the comfort of a dish of 
 steaming suey, or a duck cooked sweet and 
 tender ahi ! " he smacked thick lips with gusto. 
 "The wise man delights in the pleasures of 
 appetite, which are safe and comfortable, and 
 not in love, which is a dream soon over/ A 
 shrug. "And if a man must have dreams " 
 he continued largely, "are not the dreams 
 blown from the lily pipe more beautiful and 
 safer than the dreams of love?" 
 
 A sally of coarse laughter greeted his words. 
 A few remarks about love impossible to render 
 into unblushing English followed. Sen Yeng 
 sighed deep with satisfaction. 
 
 "And I have a son, strong and dutiful and 
 obedient . . ."he muttered sleepily. 
 
 "And with blue eyes !" added Wong Ting Fu. 
 
 "Indeed so!" agreed Sen Yeng. From 
 under his lowered lids purple lights glowed 
 briefly. 
 
 "A most dutiful son!" assured Wong Ting 
 Fu hastily. 
 
 "Indeed so," agreed Sen Yeng, relaxing to 
 [37]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 the soothing influence of poppy smoke drawn 
 deep into his capacious lungs. 
 
 So, if sometimes, regarding sardonically the 
 eagerness of Wang Hai for tales of the sea, 
 bystanders would quirk an eyebrow or de 
 risively tuck a sly tongue in cheek, no word was 
 openly said by the prudent ones aware of the 
 power of Sen Yeng. As Sun Yat the Sooth 
 sayer aptly put it : 
 
 " Truly, if there are times when speech is 
 silver, yet are there times when silence is 
 golden!" 
 
 Certainly, however, Wang Hai of the blue 
 eyes did not share his father s aversion to the 
 sea. From his birth he loved it, stealing away 
 to the waterside as soon as his small legs would 
 safely carry him to burrow contentedly in the 
 clean white sand, finding increasing fascination 
 in the shells and moss and strange sea crea 
 tures he found there. Then Sen Yeng, a taut- 
 ness under his three quivering chins, would re 
 capture him, bringing him back in a veritable 
 tempest of shrieking protest. In all the years 
 of his childhood, Wang Hai, reared to the habit 
 of unquestioning obedience and filial piety, was 
 yet unable to concede obedience upon this one 
 point. 
 
 "The great serpent living in the sea calls to 
 [38]
 
 me ! " he would explain to the gravely listening 
 Sen Yeng, reclining on a heap of cushions, his 
 great bulk draped around him. "And when it 
 calls, then must the heart of "Wang Hai re 
 spond." 
 
 Over his head the eyes of Sen Yeng would 
 meet those of May Ling, his wife, with her 
 placid, carefully painted face and veined old 
 hands. 
 
 "Only from the tree which is sound cometH 
 sound fruit!" she would intone sonorously, her 
 words harking back to the tragic happenings of 
 other years. 
 
 Across the fat saffron jowls of Sen Yeng 
 would creep a flush. "Even an unsound tree 
 may give forth sound fruit if the fruit be care 
 fully tended, he would dispute. 
 
 As the years slipped by the yearning of 
 "Wang Hai for the sea intensified. Every mo 
 ment he could steal from the shop was spent 
 on the great landing piers of the city, watching 
 tramp steamers unloading strange freight, 
 drinking in avidly the tales of rough seafaring 
 men, feeling in his bosom a longing to travel 
 surging wastes to the lands from which the 
 boxes and barrels came. Even in the changing 
 sea itself, with its tumbling waves, its emeralds 
 and cobalts, and its weeping mists, he found 
 [39]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 unceasing delight, the rough caress of a fresh 
 breeze satisfying something deep down in him 
 which rebelled instinctively against the heavi 
 ness of incense, the flowery sayings of Chinese 
 classics, the smoothly insincere courtesies of 
 the yellow men who were his associates, and, 
 indeed, against the whole sluggish current of 
 his life. Among his own race blue-eyed Wang 
 Hai, driven by the spur of cheated, unrecog 
 nized desires, felt himself an alien tugging at 
 the restraining rope of his Chinese rearing, the 
 still, tranquil, lethargic life of China repelling 
 the something turbulent in him which lay just 
 below the surface. 
 
 Only with his grandfather, Nat Hong Ku, 
 poet and philosopher, did he find anything of 
 companionship. And Nat Hong Ku, watching 
 the signs of struggle in the young face and 
 seeing the coming of a faint hardness to the 
 sensitive young mouth, sighed to himself as he 
 imparted to Wang Hai a knowledge of Shelley, 
 Byron, and other English poets. 
 
 "In China . . ." he would say to himself 
 with troubled eyes, "do we have a custom of 
 paying the priests of the temples a sum of 
 money with which to set free animals otherwise 
 doomed to death, thus acquiring merit in the 
 eyes of the gods for a merciful act. Here we 
 [40]
 
 r 
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 have no freeing place, but it may be that some 
 day I shall set free a living soul . . . and not 
 for the purpose of acquiring merit. Ahi!" 
 
 But as Nat Hong Ku bided his time, a creep 
 ing distrust of Wang Hai grew among the staid 
 Chinese. 
 
 " Where blue eyes yearn, there must the 
 heart follow," said Sun Yat the Soothsayer 
 wisely. "The eyes of Wang Hai, son of Sen 
 Yeng, are not dark like unto those of our race, 
 nor yet slanting nor has his hair the black 
 ness of a son of China." 
 
 To which his listeners, Sen Yeng being ab 
 sent, made cordial agreement. 
 
 So, conscious of the whispers of the yellow 
 men and their lack of friendliness, Wang Hai 
 was driven to the sea for companionship, or to 
 watch, face pressed against a window, the life 
 of the alien race, wondering at his feeling of 
 fellowship and his sense of belonging to this 
 so-different life. 
 
 On one such night Higgins, doorkeeper at 
 the Bristol Club, pulled him forcibly away from 
 he window. 
 
 None o that, yer bloomin yeller Chink!" 
 he ordered sharply. "It ain t fer the likes o* 
 you to be a-lookin in on the doin s o* decent 
 folks." 
 
 [41]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Then, influenced by the unresisting dignity 
 of Wang Hai, he peered up intently into his 
 face. i A Chink with blue eyes ! he spluttered 
 amazedly. 
 
 As he told one of his cronies confidentially 
 later on: "It fair gave me an ugly start ter 
 see them blue eyes lookin back at me so 
 unblinkin like above them heathen idol 
 clothes ! 
 
 "With lonely days following lonely days, and 
 with love of the sea and distaste for his en 
 forced life joining forces to battle against him, 
 Wang Hai grew at last to manhood a man 
 hood seeming to promise no future release from 
 the walls of circumstance shaping him into un 
 congenial mold. 
 
 Long evenings he spent down on the big land 
 ing piers, looking up into starlit skies, stifling 
 the protest in his heart against the ultimatum 
 of Sen Yeng. 
 
 "My respected parent does not love the 
 sea . . ." he would brood unhappily, looking 
 out over heaving wastes of water. "Where 
 fore, it being to him only a wetness and a source 
 of danger, he wishes me in the store, and as his 
 son I must obey. But to me ah ..." he 
 would draw a deep breath down into his power 
 ful lungs, "... the salt of the air, the surge 
 
 [42]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 of the water, the great winged ships all this is 
 life itself I" 
 
 He was down on the pier the night Jewel 
 came into his life, and she came, oddly enough, 
 as a gift of the sea he so loved. Standing there 
 hunched against a convenient post, shoulders 
 drooping, arms folded across his great chest, 
 staring moodily down into the dark waters 
 sucking hungrily at the piling of the pier, he 
 felt the swift flash of a moving figure past him, 
 a slight sob lingering upon the disturbed air. 
 From the dark waters below came a splash. 
 
 Just why Wang Hai, trained to a stoic ad 
 miration of suicide and a racial lack of con 
 sideration for women, unhesitantly followed 
 that splash into the water must find its ex 
 planation in his blue eyes. 
 
 Presently, by reason of his great strength, 
 he drew both his burden and himself out of the 
 water onto the pier, stretching the dripping 
 figure out carefully on the rough boards and 
 bending over anxiously. 
 
 A very young girl with drenched hair of a 
 glimmering gold undimmed by the water 
 opened dark eyes upon him ungratefully. 
 
 "Whatever did yer do it for?" she protested 
 in a silver thread of a voice, sitting up erect, 
 water dripping from her clothes. "Ain t it 
 
 [43]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 bad enough ter be nervin yerself up ter a thing 
 like that without you cuttin in an spoilin the 
 whole bloomin job?" 
 
 "You are young," remonstrated Wang Hai, 
 regarding compassionately the pinched youth 
 of her face, the tender flesh of her small bones, 
 and her pathetically draggled flimsy finery. 
 
 "Wot difference does it make whether ye re 
 young or old, if death s in yer bloomin heart?" 
 retorted the girl sullenly. 
 
 And then, his continued silence apparently 
 laying upon her a need of explanation, she 
 flared into crudely dramatic speech. 
 
 "I m new here in this town," she said 
 abruptly. * Came out here from England with 
 six other girls ponies in a dancin act see? 
 An we thought as how we d be goin back soon 
 all covered with gold an diamonds like them 
 idol things you Chinks worship ..." In the 
 faint rays of moonlight he saw the bitter smile 
 twisting the softness of her young mouth. 
 "But the bloomin act came a cropper an we 
 had ter bust up an shift fer ourselves " 
 Again the bitter smile twisting the softness of 
 a young mouth into a caricature of youth. "It 
 weren t so bad fer the rest o them . . . some 
 girls know how to handle men, keepin em 
 standin off in a circle like a pack o hungry 
 
 [44]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 dogs lookin at a bone an somehow afraid ter 
 snap at it but me, I never could manage, 
 p r aps because I m young an little an scared 
 way down deep inside o me!" she paused, 
 gulping with remembrance. 
 
 "So that sort o makes me fair game fer 
 them," she continued drearily. "I got work 
 in a pub, but a week ago I got bounced fer 
 slappin his nibs the owner. Well . . . he ll 
 be bloomin careful the next time he slides his 
 fat arm around a girl ter be sure as she wants 
 it!" 
 
 "You are cold; you must go home," inter 
 rupted Wang Hai gently, observing the shiver 
 which shook her whole slight figure. 
 
 A short sound, hardly to be termed a laugh, 
 came from the shivering girl. 
 
 "That s just the rub I ain t got no home to 
 go to ! " she explained impatiently. * My land 
 lady an a scoldin shrew she was turned me 
 out on the street. Said as how there was ways 
 a pretty girl not too particular could earn 
 room rent in Melbourne same as any other 
 place ..." Her voice dropped on a percepti 
 ble note of pitiful injury and indignation. 
 
 "But you chose ah the sea instead?" in 
 quired Wang Hai softly. 
 
 "Might as well choose the water at the 
 [45]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 beginnin o that road instead o the end," re 
 turned the girl hardily. "I knows that road 
 fair well, I do: kisses an compliments at the 
 beginning dope an* curses when yer ain t so 
 good-lookin any more, an in the end a jump 
 inter the water with nobody carin . An me 
 I d sooner jump in the first place ..." 
 
 Surprisingly she broke into a heavy sobbing. 
 "I didn t want ter die I didn t!" she said be 
 low her breath. "I ain t had anythin outer 
 life yet not a bloomin thing !" 
 
 A silence. Shamefacedly she began mopping 
 at her face with a wet and grimy handkerchief. 
 
 "I m sorry," she muttered. "It just come 
 over me of a sudden as how I ain t never had a 
 chance, an it seemed fair hard ter blink out 
 without ever havin* had anythin ." 
 
 Her words cut straight through the envelope 
 of careful Chinese rearing to something vital 
 in Wang Hai himself, revealing a similarity 
 between them and loosing a rush of sympathy. 
 
 * * You have courage, he reflected aloud. "It 
 would have been easier to ah " 
 
 "Not fer me!" denied the girl dejectedly. 
 "Gawd knows I ain t wantin ter be like this 
 it d be easier if I was the other way! But 
 somehow I can t be standin the weight of a 
 man s hand on me unless I m carin about him. 
 
 [46]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 It ain t anythin ter my credit so ter speak, it s 
 just like a matter o bein born blue-eyed or 
 with a hair lip it s me, an that s that!" 
 She sighed. "I ain t got no chance," she con 
 fessed. "I ain t never had one. I ain t smart, 
 I ain t educated, an I ain t able ter take care o 
 me, an then there s the loneliness I mind it! 
 Those as don t mind the loneliness, they re safe. 
 But me I minds it! Yer meant ter be kind, 
 but it ll be the water fer me sooner or later." 
 Her tone ran over into a cry of despairing fury. 
 * I ain t got no chance at all ! " she cried. * It s 
 allers been a-hangin over me waitin ter close 
 down like the snuffer on a bloomin candle!" 
 
 Beneath the sudden upleaping rush of de 
 testation in her thin young voice was a pathetic 
 indictment of indignities suffered dispiritedly, 
 of familiarities she had hardly dared resent, of 
 unwelcome attentions from silk-hatted, well-fed 
 men playing a game of cat and mouse with in 
 experienced youth. 
 
 To Wang Hai, hearing and understanding, 
 came the strongly partisan feeling of a generous 
 heart for the underdog, accompanied by a wish 
 to help. 
 
 "The first of the Chinese Virtues is Benevo 
 lence," he observed quietly. "I will give to 
 you that chance you have never had." 
 [47]
 
 The girl turned upon him a look both search 
 ing and sophisticated. 
 
 "Ye re a Chink a bloomin yeller Chink!* 
 she muttered, unconvinced. 
 
 "As you say," agreed Wang Hai without 
 offense. "I am ah a blooming, yellow 
 Chink." 
 
 He waited imperturbably, listening to the 
 splash of oily waves against the piling of the 
 pier, chilled himself by the raw wind playing 
 over him. 
 
 "Yer mean yer won t " stammered the girl, 
 searching his eyes and finding only a pitying 
 concern. Suddenly she reached decision. "I m 
 goin ter trust yer!" she said in a sharp 
 whisper. "Bein ? as I got ter trust somebody." 
 Then, with a wisp of a gallant laugh: "An* if 
 I been findin* white men yeller, maybe as how 
 I ll find a yeller man white see?" After 
 which, because she was very young and forlorn 
 and hungry and miserable, Jewel slid down 
 softly into a pathetic wet heap of unconscious 
 ness. 
 
 Wang Hai, after some moments of indecision, 
 lifted her in his two strong arms and set out, 
 his padded velvet slippers leaving a wet im 
 print, for the Street of a Thousand Delights. 
 
 [48]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 It was, he recognized, the one place he could 
 obtain shelter for his unconscious burden. 
 
 In the house of Madam Kwei Ling, a widow 
 whose necessity rendered her slightly less curi 
 ous than the average Chinese, he obtained a 
 room scantily furnished with a low bed, a cam- 
 phorwood chest, a threadbare rug, and a strip 
 of embroidery quoting excerpts from the say 
 ings of Buddha. To the ministrations of 
 Madam Kwei Ling herself he confided the un 
 conscious Jewel. 
 
 Perhaps an hour later Madam Kwei Ling, 
 her curiosity discreetly veiled, ushered him into 
 the room where Jewel lay on the low bed, clothed 
 in one of Madam Kwei Ling s gay brocade 
 gowns, her masses of fast drying gold hair 
 spread around her. 
 
 And if, in the darkness, Wang Hai responded 
 only to the flood of an irresistible pity, now, 
 seeing for the first time the possibilities of 
 beauty the girl possessed, he felt stir within 
 him a deeper, stronger emotion. For it was 
 true beauty Jewel possessed, a beauty w r orn 
 threadbare and pitiful by the adversity of cir 
 cumstances : great, brown, heavily fringed eyes 
 of limpid appeal, a face too thinned and 
 shrunken, hollows where curves should have 
 [49]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 bloomed, the tender young bones of her throat 
 showing beneath too tight flesh, a tracery of 
 blue veins upon her slender arms. 
 
 Impulsively Wang Hai put out a hand and 
 touched that clinging wealth of hair. "Like 
 the gold of which ornaments are made!" he 
 marveled. "What wealth for such a small 
 head to carry!" 
 
 And Jewel, raising Heavy eyelids, herself 
 made a surprising discovery. 
 
 "Why," she said in utter bewilderment. 
 "Yer ain t no Chink after all yer eyes yer 
 eyes are blue!" 
 
 In the days which followed, Jewel filled for 
 Wang Hai that emptiness in his life which 
 had so oppressed him with the constant 
 fretting of obscure longings. There was, for 
 instance, the glad brightening of her face at 
 first sight of him, and her ready appreciation 
 of the gifts he brought her: Slippers for her 
 slender feet, gay embroidered gowns from 
 China, a set of windbells for her window, flowers 
 in quaint square pots, a necklace of jade . . . 
 
 "Wot makes yer so bloomin good ter met" 
 she questioned wistfully more than once. 
 
 "Benevolence is the first of the Chinese 
 Virtues," he reminded. 
 
 [50]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "I hates ter hear yer sayin things like that 1" 
 fretted Jewel. "I don t never think o yer 
 bein a Chink!" Spots of color glowed upon 
 her rounding cheeks. 
 
 "My respected father is ah a Chink, 
 as you say," returned Wang Hai, a slight 
 bitterness quirking his sensitive mouth, that 
 mouth which was Saxon in its expressive 
 ness. "Likewise is my grandfather ah a 
 Chink!" 
 
 "Yer got those blue eyes somewheres," per 
 sisted Jewel stubbornly. 
 
 A silence, during which a visible hurt deep 
 ened in the blue eyes of Wang Hai. 
 
 "Ye re white at heart anyhow," muttered 
 Jewel apologetically, slipping a penitent hand 
 into his. 
 
 She was full of these pretty, surprising, af 
 fectionate ways, new to Wang Hai, accustomed 
 from birth to the less demonstrative ways of 
 China. A bright head dropped upon his 
 shoulder in swift, casual caress, the unheeding 
 intimacy of interlaced fingers, even, on rare 
 occasions, the whole slight weight of her leaning 
 against his broad chest all these were con 
 stantly surprising and delighting Wang Hai. 
 What he did not perceive as he came almost to 
 dread her irresponsible affection and its power-
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 ful appeal to him was that slowly her fingers 
 came to linger where formerly they had merely 
 brushed his, that her shy fugitive caresses were 
 less casual, and that in the frequent: "Wot 
 makes yer so bloomin good ter me?" was a 
 something of wistful appeal. 
 
 Bather he fixed his attention upon the sheer 
 pleasure of watching Jewel slowly fulfill her 
 threadbare promise of beauty. There was 
 about her whole brightening and blooming 
 something of the change in a starving Astray 
 taken from the gutter to the warmth of abun 
 dant food and shelter and approbation just 
 the difference between nobody s dog and some 
 body s well-cared-for pet. The hollows in her 
 cheeks filled out and flushed into faint pink, 
 her eyes were brighter, her lips deepened from 
 faded pink to scarlet. There came to her an 
 assurance instead of a perpetual shrinking, an 
 assurance which was not at all unlike a tender 
 boldness. 
 
 And then, one night after Wang Hai had 
 spent an evening making clear to this waif of 
 an alien race all the dim longings which beset 
 him, Jewel stopped him when he moved to with 
 draw, standing before the door with out 
 stretched arms, her eyes wide in the soft glow 
 of the lantern which shielded the fly-specked 
 [52]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 light, the breath of excitement panting through 
 her scarlet lips. 
 
 "Wang ..." she said unsteadily, " there s 
 you an there s me an 7 nobody carin wot be 
 comes o us. I m wantin* yer ter stay. . . ." 
 
 "But ..." stammered Wang Hai. Then, 
 with exquisite gentleness, "I understand that 
 you are grateful, Little Flower, but gratitude 
 is not a rock upon which a man may wreck the 
 edifice of honor he has reared." 
 
 "Grateful?" Jewel gave a choking little 
 laugh. " I m lovin yer, Wang 1 Then, in the 
 face of his look of disbelief, "How could I be 
 helpin it? Ain t yer been comin here night 
 after night a-fillm me up with pretty tales? I 
 ain t at the goin ter school age any more, 
 Wang. An yer been good ter me. Nobody 
 ain t ever been that good ter me before." 
 
 "I am, as you say ah a blooming Chink!" 
 he reminded gravely. 
 
 "Not with those blue eyes!" denied Jewel. 
 "An wot difference does it make? I tell yer, 
 I m lovin yer." A pause, which the gravely 
 considering Wang did not break. 
 
 "Was it fer this yer pulled me outer the 
 water, Wang?" urged Jewel. "Just so s yer 
 could pull the heart right outer me an step on 
 it!" 
 
 [53]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Before the appeal in her flushed face, the 
 quivering of her lips, the straining of her out 
 stretched arms, Wang Hai capitulated. 
 
 " Beloved Little Dear One!" he said softly, 
 lips against the glory of her hair, in him an 
 overmastering tenderness which lent reverence 
 to hoth tone and clasping arms alike. "Your 
 short life has been one of trouble, but never 
 will Wang Hai add anything of sorrow to 
 it." 
 
 Altogether it seems rather a pity that Sen 
 Yeng should have chosen the very next day to 
 break to Wang Hai the news of his approaching 
 marriage, and that, with the customary secrecy 
 of the Chinese, he should have waited until 
 negotiations had gone too far to break off be 
 fore mentioning the marriage to Wang Hai. 
 
 "Myself and The Little Bald One Who Has 
 Mothered You have decided upon your mar 
 riage," he observed to Wang Hai over the 
 morning rice which they shared. "Your bride 
 is already upon the waters a maiden of China, 
 chaste, beautiful, and accomplished, daughter 
 of my old friend, the taotai of Soochow. May 
 she bear you many sons and quickly." 
 
 Upon the dreams of Wang Hai, filled with the 
 [54]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 sweetness of Jewel against his breast, her nrar- 
 muring voice whispering enchantment into his 
 ear, the words of Sen Yeng broke like the im 
 pact of a hostile breath against a shimmering 
 bubble, shattering them into iridescent bits. 
 
 Then, surprisingly, Wang Hai who had not 
 opposed the wish of his father regarding the 
 sea, raised a faint defiance in behalf of Jewel. 
 
 "I do not wish to marry," he protested. 
 
 "Man does not attain by himself, nor woman 
 by herself," intoned Sen Yeng placidly. "But 
 like the one-winged birds of the children s tale, 
 they rise together." 
 
 A nausea of repulsion against the raven- 
 haired bride with her full-lidded eyes, her 
 docility, and her satiating obedience claimed 
 Wang Hai, exulting in the flame which beat in 
 Jewel, and in that thirst for freedom which 
 eschewed bondage except at the hands of the 
 beloved. 
 
 "You are very old and wise, My Father," 
 he said rebelliously. "So old and so wise you 
 have forgotten how the heart of youth beats in 
 springtime." 
 
 "No man ever grows so old he forgets that 
 thing," disputed Sen Yeng, his own thoughts 
 going back to the dead Chinese Lily. "Yet 
 love, which is a producer of happiness, can like- 
 
 [55]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 wise bring a rice bowl overflowing with bitter 
 ness. Be obedient, for in that way peace and 
 contentment lie. 
 
 1 But ..." persisted Wang Hai unhappily. 
 
 Sen Yeng raised a ponderous hand. "It is 
 arranged," he stated, and in his tone was a 
 finality which silenced Wang Hai. 
 
 Throughout a day weighted down with mis 
 ery, Wang Hai performed his duties, receiv 
 ing goods, unpacking them, making out invoices 
 in his scholarly hand both in English and 
 Chinese, his thoughts far from the familiar 
 tasks his hands accomplished so expertly. 
 
 Jewel . . . how would she take this news? 
 And he could not deceive her ! 
 
 "Between those who love must ever be per 
 fect truth, else that love dies as surely as a rose 
 smitten with blight ! " he murmured wretchedly 
 to himself. And then: "Truly, as my honor 
 able parent has said : Love which is a producer 
 of happiness can likewise bring a rice bowl over 
 flowing with bitterness." 
 
 At night, when he was free, he went to Jewel, 
 his feet lagging from very unwillingness to 
 break the spell of enchantment which had re 
 deemed his days from emptiness to a glowing 
 assurance of being loved and needed. 
 
 "Lover-boy!" greeted Jewel happily against 
 [56]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 his breast. And then, instantly: "Yer ain t 
 glad ter see me ! 
 
 " Unhappy things have I been reflecting 
 upon," explained Wang Hai. 
 
 "Wot s up?" inquired Jewel simply, anxious 
 eyes upon his. 
 
 My honorable father has arranged for me 
 a marriage. Even now the chosen bride is upon 
 the sea." 
 
 11 Marriage . . . bride!" whispered Jewel, 
 drawing away. "I I don t get yer, Wang. 
 Ain t yer mine? Yer ain t thinkin I m goin 
 ter share yer with any black-haired, yeller- 
 skinned doll I Yer wouldn t be leavin me now, 
 Wang?" Her instant jealousy was pitiful, 
 stirring Wang to reassuring tenderness. 
 
 " Could you share what is altogether yours, 
 Little Butterfly?" he soothed. 
 
 "Then there s no thin in this marriage talk," 
 sighed Jewel in relief, relaxing against his 
 chest. "But yer had me fair scared." 
 
 "Beloved Little Plumblossom, " said Wang 
 Hai sorrowfully, "though you hold my heart 
 between your two small hands, yet must I marry 
 this bride of my father s choice. Always among 
 our race must a son obey his parent. " 
 
 "Ain t yer got no rights o yer own?" in 
 quired Jewel sharply. 
 
 [57]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 "No," said Wang Hai somberly, thinking 
 back to his frustrated love for the sea. "In 
 China it is the parent not the child who 
 rules." 
 
 "Yer don t love me!" cried Jewel passion 
 ately, reading something inexorable in his face. 
 "There ain t no honor among men anyhow, 
 white or yeller!" Tears ran down from her 
 flashing eyes, her face whitened. "Yer don t 
 love me an yer never did ! she stormed. l Yer 
 was just a-foolin me with yer soft talk. An I 
 hates myself for lovin* yer you, with yer lyin* 
 blue eyes. Yer ain t no different from all the 
 rest o the male brutes wot loves ter hand out 
 a rotten deal ter us skirts! An I m never 
 wantin ter see yer ugly face again. Me, wot 
 was too good to fall fer a white man, fallin* 
 fer a yeller one! Gawd!" 
 
 Quietly, with a passion of sincerity pulsing 
 in his steady voice, Wang Hai made it very 
 clear that to hirn Jewel was the one ray of light 
 dawning upon a life clouded with darkness, 
 that to him the mere patter of her footsteps 
 was more grateful than rain upon parched corn, 
 that she was of himself that other half which 
 makes the perfect whole . . . 
 
 But Jewel, lapsed into the futility of hys 
 terics, did not heed his words. And finally 
 
 [58]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Wang Hai, with many a backward glance at 
 Jewel flung face downward on the low bed, his 
 heart wrung with pity for her drooped mouth 
 and tear-stained cheeks, moved toward the door. 
 
 " Didn t yer say yer loved me?" reproached 
 Jewel sobbingly. "Didn t yer say as how yer 
 
 wouldn t bring trouble an sorrow ter me " 
 
 A peal of angry sobbing laughter pursued him 
 as he went out, reaching even to the ears of 
 the discreetly curious Madam Kwei Ling. 
 
 And there the whole matter might have ended, 
 with Jewel sobbing into her crumpled pillow 
 whole nights through, with Wang Hai going 
 through his duties in a daze of misery, and the 
 unwanted bride sailing toward Melbourne, ex 
 cept for a chance visit of Wang Hai to Nat 
 Hong Ku, his grandfather. 
 
 To Nat Hong Ku, esteemed as a poet in his 
 gay youth, and revered as a philosopher in his 
 riper years, belonged the ability to read the 
 distressed minds of his fellow men. 
 
 Making his grandson hospitably welcome with 
 offered refreshment of scalding hot tea and 
 cloying sweetmeats, he addressed himself tact 
 fully to the preparation of a small cube held 
 from the point of a pin in a tiny fizzing blue 
 flame. 
 
 "Many times have my eyes beheld your spirit 
 [59]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 straining at the heel rope of your body, Beloved 
 Grandson . . . yet never more than to-day, " he 
 said in his gentle voice, kind eyes upon the 
 young face opposite. 
 
 And then, the expected confidence not forth 
 coming, he continued: 
 
 "Rumor has it that you are paying court at 
 the feet of a goddess with hair of gold . . ." 
 A pause. "You love this woman of an alien 
 race I" he questioned in a tone free of blame. 
 
 His knowledge did not surprise Wang Hai. 
 To Nat Hong Ku were known all things which 
 happened in The Street of a Thousand Delights. 
 
 "I would that the River of Souls yawned for 
 me ! he said desperately. 
 
 "That . . ." sighed Nat Hong Ku shrewdly, 
 ". . . is the voice of unhappiness speaking." 
 A pause while he regarded the opalescent smoke 
 rolling away from the cube. 
 
 "Strange that one born of such great happi 
 ness should end in the throes of unhappiness," 
 considered Nat Hong Ku. "And yet perhaps, 
 after all, not entirely strange. I, who am thy 
 grandfather, loved a woman of an alien race 
 . . . and she died. My daughter, The Chinese 
 Lily, loved a man of alien race . . . and she 
 died!" A pause. 
 
 "Truly is the thief in the night stealing of his 
 [60]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 neighbor s plenty to be condemned," reflected 
 Nat Hong Ku. "Yet what of the thief stealing 
 the living years of a life and coining them into 
 terms of service and obedience where none are 
 due?" 
 
 Shrewdly he awaited answer from the 
 startled Wang Hai, and when none was forth 
 coming, he proceeded leisurely, inhaling deeply 
 from the now ready pipe with its gilded tassels. 
 
 "To me are you my grandson," said Nat 
 Hong Ku gently. "To The Chinese Lily were 
 you her son; but to Sen Yeng with his three 
 chins sleeping on his breast are you nothing 
 at all!" 
 
 "Sen Yeng is not my honorable parent?" 
 stammered Wang Hai, his eyes alive with dawn 
 ing hope. "Then if he is not my respected 
 father ..." 
 
 In that instant it seemed to him he glimpsed 
 a straight and shining path leading to the sea, 
 with at the end of it Jewel. 
 
 * Thy mother, The Chinese Lily, loved a blue- 
 eyed rover of strange seas," explained Nat 
 Hong Ku with something of sadness. Then, 
 regarding the blue eyes of Wang Hai: "0 
 Foolish Young Man, often in the garden are 
 planted trees of plum and cherry . . . " he said. 
 "But always is the fruit of the plum plum 
 [61]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 and of the cherry cherry! Whence came those 
 eyes of blue to a son of Sen Yeng?" 
 
 Whereupon, for the first time, was the story 
 of The Chinese Lily told to the son she left 
 behind her. 
 
 1 I am an old man," finished Nat Hong Ku 
 equably. "And when the years of my wisdom 
 are accomplished, I shall ascend the dragon. 
 And at that time you, as my grandson, will 
 mourn. Yet because on that distant day I wish 
 a mourning sprung of affection and gratitude 
 and not of obedience, I choose to give you now 
 of the wealth which is mine. For, when all is 
 said, I am an old man and my wants are few. 
 
 A look of utter content and peace crossed his 
 face. He closed his eyes. 
 
 "A wise man knows that he can hold only 
 what is truly his own," he murmured to the 
 departing Wang Hai. "But it is a thing the 
 esteemed Sen Yeng has not yet learned." 
 
 Later he said the same thing to Sen Yeng. 
 
 "Thy son who is not thy son is taking wings 
 like a freed bird," he informed the embittered 
 Sen Yeng. 
 
 "And because of that flitting I shall lose much 
 face, complained Sen Yeng querulously. l To 
 morrow we shall have a bride yet no bride 
 
 groom." 
 
 [62]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 " Consider the years in which "Wang Hai has 
 been a dutiful son and not the years in which 
 he will no longer be thy son, admonished Nat 
 Hong Ku, "for always a wise man regards his 
 gain and not his loss." 
 
 "But for you, Meddling One, "Wang Hai 
 would have remained my son," accused Sen 
 Yeng. 
 
 "To me is Wang Hai my grandson; to my 
 daughter was he her son; but to you, Owner 
 of Three Chins, is Wang Hai nothing at all!" 
 observed Nat Hong Ku gently. "And, Fool, 
 it is written in the beginning that a man can 
 hold only what is his own." 
 
 Timidly May Ling, the plump little wife, 
 sought to pour oil upon troubled waters. "In 
 China is your unmarried nephew, Wing Chun, 
 she pointed out. * Let him marry this bride and 
 be to you as a son a son without the blue eyes 
 forever yearning for other ways and other 
 lands." 
 
 "It shall be done," agreed Sen Yeng, bright 
 ening. "For a mere woman your words are 
 full of wisdom." 
 
 "Always is the fruit of the plum plum and 
 
 the fruit of the cherry cherry," murmured Nat 
 
 Hong Ku, turning away. "Moreover, as I grow 
 
 older and more full of wisdom, it appears to 
 
 [63]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 me that the world is full of sadness, wherefore 
 it seems to me that where the gift of happiness 
 can be extended, it should not be withheld. And 
 I doubt not that Wang Hai, my grandson, is 
 happy. * 
 
 In which Nat Hong Ku guessed shrewdly. At 
 that very moment Wang Hai knelt worshipfully 
 beside Jewel, lying dejectedly on the low bed. 
 
 "I have returned, Fairer Than Jade!" he 
 cried ardently. 
 
 "Go back ter yer yeller-skinned bride!" re 
 torted Jewel sullenly, her words denying the 
 telltale evidence of hollow eyes and wan cheeks. 
 "I m not wantin ter see yer ugly face again." 
 
 Yellow- skinned?" Wang Hai made gay pre 
 tense of surprise. "The skin of my bride is 
 whiter than milk; her hair is like the gold of 
 summer sunlight ..." Gently he caressed her 
 bright hair with a tender hand. 
 
 "Does yer mean it?" gasped Jewel, abandon 
 ing her pride. l Oh, Lover-boy, does yer mean 
 it?" 
 
 And then, seeing in his misted eyes the blessed 
 assurance of his freedom, she laid a wet cheek 
 thankfully against his. 
 
 "Those things I said ..." she sobbed. "I 
 wasn t meanin them, Lover-boy. It was just 
 that I loved yer so!" 
 
 [64]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "I know, Little Flower/ agreed Wang Hai 
 understandingly. "Love turned back upon it 
 self is expressed in terms of hate. 
 
 And then, holding tightly to him all that 
 power of stormy emotion and pathetic capacity 
 for feeling which was Jewel, he repeated his 
 promise : 
 
 "Nothing of sorrow shall I bring to your 
 already sufficiently troubled life ..." promised 
 Wang Hai, his blue eyes very intent. 
 
 [65]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS
 
 THE hyacinths bloomed that morning in the 
 quaint scarlet dragon painted pots on the 
 casement window of Wong Ting Fu, great 
 starry plumes of purple and rose and blue and 
 white opening surprised eyes upon the warring 
 elements of their surroundings and shouldering 
 aside into insignificance the less beautiful dwarf 
 orange tree and budding narcissus beside them. 
 An odd room indeed, that of Wong Ting Fu: 
 scarlet curtains flaunting in the soft morning 
 breeze ; upon the floor a rare old rug from China 
 blending faded tones of gold and blue and royal 
 purple. An English chest of drawers display 
 ing upon its polished mahogany surface an 
 American razor, a bronze Buddha, and a col 
 lection of tiny tasseled pipes. Over in a corner 
 a black satin screen embroidered in apple- 
 blossoms and tall gold storks. In still another 
 corner a narrow iron bed covered richly with 
 a carelessly thrown bit of priceless embroidery. 
 Against the wall a bookshelf upon which the 
 sayings of the ancient Chinese philosophers and 
 [69]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 the Lord Gautama Buddha jostled those of the 
 Christian Christ. And, dominating all these, 
 the tall, emaciated, dignified presence of Wong 
 Ting Fu himself, long slender wrists half hidden 
 in his black satin sleeves, aristocratic ankles 
 in snowy silken white emerging from immacu 
 late black velvet slippers. 
 
 A strange person, Wong Ting Fu, born a 
 Manchu prince, educated at Oxford, England, 
 and combining in his suave, dignified self the 
 civilization of the far East and the learning of 
 the West. The steps by which he sank from 
 his high estate to that of keeper of a six bunk 
 opium layout in Melbourne were as varied as 
 the contents of his room high above the sights 
 and smells of that street so euphoniously 
 termed "The Street of a Thousand Delights," 
 and undoubtedly beneath that slow descent into 
 degradation was the soul-snaring influence of 
 poppy smoke, the secret vice to which Wong 
 Ting Fu made whole-hearted surrender. For, 
 as he himself so candidly said to an appreciative 
 audience: "A splatter of mud upon the robe 
 of chastity is a vexing matter, yet is a deluge 
 of mud something quite different, since who 
 shall say where the mud begins and where it 
 ends?* 
 
 [70]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Which sally, urbanely brought forth, invari 
 ably elicited chuckles of approval from the sor 
 did clientele of his establishment, behind the 
 closed doors of which bits of human wreckage 
 drowsed in contented lethargy. 
 
 But in this story, which is the story of Wong 
 Ting Fu and Rosy May, blind daughter of Eng 
 lish Annie, the tragic Odyssey of Wong Ting Fu 
 has no place. There remains only to be consid 
 ered the fact that, standing alone in his pride 
 of race, his intellect, and his education, in a 
 district peopled mainly with Cantonese, sturdy 
 river or country men risen to a dogged pros 
 perity in this new land of promise, Wong Ting 
 Fu the Manchu was a very lonely man, finding 
 in the difference between his present life and 
 his former greatness an all but unbearable 
 contrast. 
 
 He was lonely this particular morning as he 
 bent above the hyacinths, inhaling their per 
 fume with an exclamation of delight, remember 
 ing perhaps with his poppy-misted brain other 
 blooms in other lands. 
 
 "0 Little Buds of Beauty!" sighed Wong 
 
 Ting Fu, stretching sinewy yellow hands above 
 
 them. Then, because in the vanished days he 
 
 had been a poet and a scholar, he lifted a two- 
 
 [71]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 string guitar from the floor, twanging it to a 
 melancholy, sentimental tune: 
 
 11 loveliness which is mine, 
 Soul of a thousand perfumes " 
 
 sang Wong Ting Fu in the morning sunlight, 
 in his not unpleasant, exquisitely modulated, 
 slightly flattened voice. 
 
 Presently he went down the rickety stairs 
 and out through the green doors so diligently 
 and patiently and so fruitlessly raided by 
 exasperated Melbourne police into the sights, 
 the smells, and the clamor of the Street of a 
 Thousand Delights. Past fat Ah Ling, the food 
 merchant, past the peacock feathers and gilded 
 chandeliers of the restaurant of Hong Fong he 
 went, stepping carefully over puddles deposited 
 by a recent rain, his brown, luxuriantly lashed 
 eyes resting indifferently upon sights his misted 
 brain scarcely recognized. 
 
 "Wong Ting Fu the Manchu!" said a stout, 
 brown, heavy-legged Chinese to his neighbor in 
 the doorway of a fruit and vegetable shop. "Lo, 
 how are the mighty fallen that a cousin of the 
 yellow Emperor rubs elbows with the lowly! * 
 
 "Ahi!" laughed the other maliciously. "If 
 a fleet horse be hamstrung can a mule not excel 
 him?" 
 
 [72]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Even so!" agreed the other, sucking in his 
 thick lips appreciatively. 
 
 Passing rapidly along that street which might 
 have been lifted bodily from China, from the 
 balconies of which gleamed furtive faces with 
 drugged eyes or came the high, shrilly scolding 
 voices of forbidden women, Wong Ting Fu 
 paused before the door behind which dwelt 
 English Annie and her daughter, Rosy May, 
 the blind girl. 
 
 English Annie herself opened the door, her 
 good-natured face, still unpainted, showing a 
 sickly white in the clear morning light, her 
 peroxided hair in customary disarray, one hand 
 holding the neck of her frowsy dressing-sack 
 together. 
 
 "Late this morning, ain t yer?" she de 
 manded sharply. "And Rosy s that restless 
 she s been calling fer yer constant." 
 
 "I was delayed," explained Wong Ting Fu 
 in his exact English. "This morning the hya 
 cinths bloomed and I stopped to admire their 
 beauty." 
 
 "Yer bloomin hyacinths!" sniffed English 
 Annie good-naturedly. "Ain t I got as pretty 
 a flower bloomin here as anybody ever saw?" 
 
 "It is true," assented Wong Ting Fu. 
 [73]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 A pause. Wong Ting Fu made as if to pass 
 on into the inner room, but English. Annie put 
 out a slightly trembling hand and caught him 
 by the sleeve with urgent fingers. 
 
 "Wong!" she said, and swallowed, wetting 
 her dry lips with a nervous tongue. 
 
 "There is perhaps something I can do?" he 
 inquired courteously. 
 
 * Not f er me ! " denied English Annie. * Fer 
 yerself and her, Rosy." 
 
 "Yes?" smiled Wong Ting Fu, heavily 
 fringed eyes upon her shrewdly. 
 
 "All this time we been a-livin on yer money, 
 me and Rosy " stammered English Annie. 
 
 "It is nothing!" reassured Wong Ting Fu 
 quickly. "The joy of watching a flower grow 
 to beauty has sufficed. 
 
 "Gawd in Heaven couldn t a been kinder!" 
 choked English Annie. "And I m grateful, 
 Wong. But Rosy s near a woman grown now. 
 It ain t goin ter be easy keepin things from 
 her any more fer all she s blind. Keepin ugli 
 ness away from her ain t goin ter be easy no 
 more!" 
 
 "Perhaps not," agreed Wong Ting Fu 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Only yesterday I took her to the dock fer a 
 bit o sea air, her bein so white and all," said 
 [74]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 English Annie anxiously. "And a sailor from 
 The Ireland Queen comes up ter us and well, 
 yer know, Wong, it ain t easy fer me to make 
 anybody respect a girl o mine. I I had ter 
 tell her he was crazy, what with his loud talk 
 and his ugly words. A pause. * She s pretty, 
 Wong too pretty ter be safe with the likes o* 
 me I" concluded English Annie heavily. 
 
 A silence. Then: "Why don t yer take her, 
 Wong?" asked English Annie timidly. "Yer 
 could keep her safe, our little flower I can t!" 
 
 A sudden and revealing light in the deep 
 brown eyes of Wong Ting Fu, although he said 
 nothing. 
 
 "Me, I ve a chance ter go back ter the old 
 country, pleaded English Annie. But I can t 
 take Eosy. Between us we ve kept her clean, 
 Wong. I can t be a-takin her back inter all 
 that scum!" 
 
 "She knows no more of ugliness than a lily 
 knows of the mud from which it springs, said 
 
 Wong Ting Fu slowly. "But " He lifted 
 
 one thin yellow hand, inspecting it meaningly. 
 
 "She s blind; how s she ever goin ter 
 know ? urged English Annie eagerly. Yellow 
 men, white men how s she ever goin ter 
 know? And if yer yellow on the outside, Wong, 
 yer blamed white at heart!" 
 [75]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 "She will never know," assented Wong Ting 
 Fu. "But -" 
 
 "Can the likes o Eosy be a chooser?" de 
 manded English Annie with bitterness. "And 
 there s worse things, Wong, than marryin a 
 yellow man ! 
 
 Behind the sudden upleaping bitterness of her 
 tone was a pitiful indictment of all that fan 
 tastic sordid life which lay behind her, a sudden 
 reminiscence of an orphan asylum in England 
 with long lines of gray-clad, pig-tailed children ; 
 of a cheap lodging-house with interminable 
 steps to be scrubbed by a tired lonely little 
 slavey; of a stray bit of kindness tossed to a 
 lonely overworked girl; of a sudden glowing 
 satisfaction in being somebody s dog instead 
 of a stray; of a first step into the mud of dis 
 honor through love; of a further sinking 
 through necessity; and then of a slow deter 
 mined slaying of soul to provide for a tiny child 
 with unseeing eyes. For, as she herself said 
 often: "I couldn t be lettin her go inter a 
 Home, could I, me bein raised that way myself 
 and a-knowin just how bad it was!" 
 
 Later, much later, when the innocence of 
 Eosy was becoming a problem, came Melbourne 
 and the beneficent, unseeking kindness of Wong 
 [76]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Ting Fu, from the very first moment his eyes 
 had chanced across her in the restaurant of 
 Hong Fong, shielded from the dubious sights 
 around her by the blindness of her eyes. "Little 
 Flower Growing in the Dark he had called her 
 in a sudden gush of pity. Even after the pity 
 had subtly blended into love he continued to call 
 her that. 
 
 Wong Ting Fu roused from his meditation. 
 "Who knows ah that it will be agreeable to 
 the Little Lotus Bud?" he inquired. 
 
 "It s yerself that s been blind all these 
 days!" sniffed English Annie. "Rosy s soft 
 on yer, Wong. Ain t yer been kind ter her? 
 Ain t yer spent hours and hours a-tellin her 
 pretty stories with her a-readin herself as the 
 her-oine and you as the he-ro? Gwan! I m 
 thinkin she s figurin yer second only ter Gawd 
 Almighty!" 
 
 Faint color came into the nearly white cheeks 
 of Wong Ting Fu. 
 
 "She loves yer; she ll be happy with yer," 
 insisted English Annie. "And she ll be safe 
 with yer ! She ll be a good wife f er all her bein r 
 blind it ain t the worst thing in the world to 
 have a blind wife, Wong, if bein blind keeps 
 her thinkin yer a bloomin* king!" 
 [77]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 "No," agreed Wong Ting Fu slowly. "As 
 you say ah it isn t the worst thing in the 
 wo rid. " 
 
 Passing on to the inner room, he stopped in 
 the doorway for the heart-stirring throb of 
 sheer delight he invariably experienced with his 
 first sight of Rosy May. She sat upon a couch 
 gorgeous with rich satins and heaped with gay 
 pillows, her small white face turned wistfully 
 toward the door. Heavy, amber colored hair 
 hung around her frail shoulders, the sightless 
 eyes were of clear, dark blue shaded by long, 
 curving lashes, the slender hands and feet, so 
 necessary to the Oriental ideal of beauty, were 
 slimly perfect. And when she called to Wong 
 Ting Fu, hesitating in the doorway, there was 
 in her tone a rapture of adoration few men, 
 white or yellow, have lived to hear. 
 
 "Wong!" she called in happy delight, lifting 
 slender arms in the blue satin coat which cov 
 ered her. Although she did not know it, the 
 coat and all the other beautiful things with 
 which the room was crowded were the gifts of 
 Wong Ting Fu. 
 
 "I am here, Beloved Little Princess!" said 
 
 Wong Ting Fu tenderly, advancing and seating 
 
 himself on the floor beside her. Gently he took 
 
 one of her small white hands in his own yellow 
 
 [78]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 one, contrasting them with something of regret. 
 
 "It seemed so long to-day before you came!" 
 she reproached wistfully in the faultless Eng 
 lish he had so painstakingly taught her. "And 
 without you it is always dark and lonely." 
 
 "To-day the hyacinths bloomed," he told her 
 pacifically. "And because of that it is an auspi 
 cious day and I come with a gift in my hands." 
 Carefully he laid in her eagerly reaching palms 
 a necklace of purest green jade, cunningly orna 
 mented with gold feathers. See, Little Lotus 
 Bud, it is green, a color of which, poor Little 
 Jasmine Flower, you have no knowledge. Yet 
 green is a color which is cool, like the breeze 
 from the open sea or the tinkle of falling 
 water." 
 
 I see it ! " cooed Eosy May in delight. * * Al 
 ways I can see things when you tell me of them. 
 And now tell me of the hyacinths and of that 
 country in which you were a prince!" 
 
 And because in the days of his first youth 
 "Wong Ting Fu had been a poet, sitting beside 
 the raptly listening blind girl he painted pic 
 tures for her with carefully chosen words 
 pictures of gardens filled with plum and cherry 
 blossoms ; of temples with mellow bells and scar 
 let robed priests walking in the twilight ; of the 
 court of the Emperor with its gayly clad cour- 
 [79]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 tiers ; of sampans floating upon great rivers ; of 
 rice fields with black crows winging slowly 
 above. 
 
 "I see it I see it I" cried Eosy May in 
 ecstasy. "Always you can make me see what 
 you see!" 
 
 And Wong Ting Fu, thinking of the ugliness 
 in which his life was spent, smiled a smile sad 
 der than any gush of tears. 
 
 "If I could but see!" grieved Eosy May 
 plaintively. "If I could but see you, Wong." 
 
 "If you could but see!" agreed Wong Ting 
 Fu placidly, looking down upon the small white 
 hand so closely clasped in his yellow one. "Yet 
 listen well, Plumblossom, for I have news for 
 you to-day." 
 
 "Tell me first how beautiful I am," com 
 manded Eosy May rebelliously. 
 
 Gravely Wong Ting Fu complied. "Your 
 beautiful hair is sunlight prisoned in a web of 
 silk," he said obediently. "Your eyes are bluer 
 than sapphire seas beneath June skies, your 
 mouth as softly red as summer roses " 
 
 "Ah!" sobbed Eosy May passionately in sud 
 den revolt. "What do I know of sunlight or of 
 blue skies or of red roses?" 
 
 "It is true," agreed Wong Ting Fu sorrow 
 fully. "Yet are you so beautiful, Little 
 [80]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Mourning Dove, that you hold my heart between 
 your two small hands and all that heart is filled 
 with your beauty!" 
 
 Eosy May clapped her hands. "But that 
 that I understand!" she cried gleefully. "For 
 that, Wong, is feeling, not seeing, and it is what 
 I feel for you. Even the blind can feel ! 
 
 A long silence. Wistfully she turned her face 
 up towards his. "Are you displeased, Master 
 of My Heart?" 
 
 Gently Wong Ting Fu gathered into his arms 
 all the beauty, all the sweetness, all the pathetic 
 wistfulness which was Rosy May. "We are two 
 lonely ones, Flower Which Blooms in the Gar 
 den of My Delight," he said in his poetic way. 
 "Wherefore shall we be, each to the other, all 
 in all." 
 
 And that night being their wedding night, 
 they sat cheek to cheek in the casement window 
 beside the blooming hyacinths, waiting to see 
 the first sun rise upon their marriage, insuring 
 happiness. 
 
 "I am happy, Wong," whispered Eosy May. 
 "Yet if for one tiny instant I could see 
 you ..." 
 
 "See, my Jewel Without Price, the sun is 
 rising," returned Wong Ting Fu gently, hold 
 ing her slender hands out into the warmth. 
 [81]
 
 "It comes to warm the earth, to bid the 
 flowers grow, to ripen the fruit, to bring beauty 
 to the world all these things have you told 
 me!" sighed Eosy May. "And what the sun 
 is to the earth you are to me, Beloved Master, 
 for what am I without you?" 
 
 "It is true," assented Wong Ting Fu, his 
 brown eyes misted with tenderness. "And be 
 cause of that all things beautiful will I give 
 to you and nothing which is ugly ! 
 
 He kept his word in the days which followed, 
 did Wong Ting Fu, once a prince in the land 
 of cherry blossoms and tolling temple bells. 
 For the sake of Eosy May he even eschewed the 
 lilied pipe which had sapped vigor from his 
 limbs and strength from his misted brain, so 
 that gradually he came back to something of 
 his former strength and keenness of wit, giving 
 the credit whole-heartedly to Eosy May. 
 
 1 1 You are the strength of my soul, the breath 
 of my nostrils, Pearl of Great Price!" he 
 would say, enfolding her in his arms. 
 
 And: "Love of My Life, what would I be 
 without you!" would ask Eosy May simply. 
 
 Under the tender shielding care of Wong 
 Ting Fu and the secure knowledge of his love 
 Eosy May herself bloomed to surprising beauty. 
 
 [82]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Color flushed her pale cheeks, the blue unseeing 
 eyes sparkled with health. It was the delight of 
 Wong Ting Fu to see her passing happily from 
 one to another of his treasured possessions, 
 touching them delicately with an exploring fin 
 ger, or to watch her moving around in the tiny 
 garden he built for her upon the roof. Hya 
 cinths, dwarf pine trees, Chinese tulips, frisias 
 nodding in the sun it was a very perfect but 
 tiny garden. But as Wong Ting Fu said with 
 reason, Rosy May would never know how tiny. 
 
 "Tell me about it," Rosy May would urge, 
 laying delicate finger tips upon upturned petals. 
 "What color are these, Wong?" 
 
 "Blue like your eyes, Plumblossom, " Wong 
 Ting Fu would laugh, looking down upon the 
 hyacinth blooms. "And yet not so blue!" 
 
 Or, on still another day: "What have you 
 seen to-day?" Rosy May would urge wistfully. 
 
 "Great ships have I seen coming in to the 
 landing dock to-day, y he would relate in his pre 
 cise English. "Ships from distant countries 
 bringing wonderful things : silks and satins and 
 spices and strange foods and things which make 
 music ..." 
 
 "I see them!" would sigh Rosy May happily. 
 
 So, in spite of the dire predictions of the 
 dwellers in the Street of a Thousand Delights, 
 [83]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 the marriage was happy, that very happiness 
 proving a source of vexation to some of those 
 prophesying to the contrary. 
 
 Sun Yat the Soothsayer even protested 
 openly in the resort known as The Gathering 
 Place of the Most High, giving challenge to that 
 happiness as he cast down his painted fans in 
 an attempt to discover omens unfavorable to 
 this outlandish marriage. 
 
 "A flower plucked from an alien vine gives 
 forth bitter perfume,* he said boldly to Wong 
 Ting Fu himself. 
 
 "Love," retorted Wong Ting Fu with con 
 tempt, "is a thing passing the understanding 
 of such as thou. For I ask you : Is understand 
 ing a dog to come at the whistle of the un 
 worthy?" 
 
 "But two things and two alone are females 
 born for!" argued Sun Yat sullenly. "The 
 washing of pots and the bearing of men children. 
 Yet neither of these has thy bride accom 
 plished. 
 
 1 Since we are each to the other sufficient, 
 wherefore is the need of two becoming three!" 
 returned Wong Ting Fu indifferently. "In 
 China the little wife walks always six feet be 
 hind the master, yet my little wife, being, as 
 [84]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 you say, blind, walks by my side and therefore 
 are we closer!" 
 
 Sun Yat narrowed his eyes to a malicious slit. 
 "0 Young and Foolish Brother," he said po 
 litely, " never has a man so loved a woman 
 without exposing to his enemy his secret 
 weakness. 
 
 "When the enemy comes, Most Highly Re 
 spected Elder Brother," returned Wong Ting 
 Fu equably, "Wong Ting Fu the Manchu will 
 protect his own!" 
 
 But in giving forth this challenge so confi 
 dently and in so readily accepting the charge 
 of Rosy May, Wong Ting Fu overlooked the 
 fact that possession of a rare jewel cannot be 
 concealed, however humble its setting. And 
 that, furthermore, extolling of the virtues of 
 that same jewel is directly calculated to breed 
 emotions of covetousness and envy in the breast 
 of the hearer. 
 
 Rumors of the beauty of Rosy May spread 
 through the Street of a Thousand Delights like 
 flame through prairie grass, leaving a spark 
 here and a spark there, and creating in the 
 breast of Yoh Kee, proprietor of The Gathering 
 Place of the Most High, a veritable blaze. 
 [85]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 He was far from being a prepossessing per 
 son, was Yoh Kee, who came to Melbourne 
 from Canton when Sun Lee, the former pro 
 prietor, died in the odor of great sanctity and 
 his body was shipped back to China in state, 
 enclosed in a handsome metallic coffin highly 
 ornamented with crimson dragons, to be decor 
 ously followed by twenty mourners dressed in 
 white, with tiny balls of wool representing tears 
 suspended from their hatbrims, accompanied by 
 ten Buddhist priests dressed in scarlet, to its 
 final resting-place on a slope carefully chosen 
 with a view of pleasing the departed spirit with 
 its esthetic possibilities. 
 
 "With his swollen body on absurdly tiny legs 
 surmounted by an enormous full moon face de 
 nuded of eyelashes and eyebrows, Yoh Kee em 
 bodied in his unattractive person a mingling 
 of the vices of both yellow and white races. 
 Openly he professed an admiration of the cus 
 toms of the white race, clothing his body in 
 flashy black and white English checked suits, 
 wearing upon his huge head an English derby 
 hat for which both races laughed at him. But 
 because of the property inherited from the 
 honorably deceased Sun Lee, he was accepted in 
 the Street of a Thousand Delights as a man of 
 substance and therefore entitled to due respect. 
 [86]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 And if, sometimes, it was whispered that once, 
 in the living-rooms above The Gathering Place 
 of the Most High, through sheer wanton temper 
 Yoh Kee beat a slave girl to death, or that in 
 that black past behind him, upon which occasion 
 ally Yoh Kee s braggart tongue turned a sin 
 ister searchlight, were deeds the mere relating 
 of which would suffice to send chills of horror 
 down an Occidental backbone, these were things 
 never repeated within the hearing of the Mel 
 bourne police. 
 
 To the ears of Yoh Kee, degenerate, mur 
 derer, and superbrute, therefore, came whispers 
 of the beauty of Eosy May, inciting a passion 
 of envy which was fanned to consuming flame 
 by a chance sight of her tender white face, one 
 perfect evening, when Wong Ting Fu was tak 
 ing her down to the waterfront to sit, hands 
 clasped idly in her lap, unseeing eyes turned out 
 over the gently rippling water. 
 
 Ah!" said Yoh Kee aloud, standing in his 
 ridiculous black and white checked suit and 
 derby hat, looking after the disappearing Rosy 
 May. "The words of Wong Ting Fu indeed 
 hold a measure of truth ! The matter of sight 
 less eyes is of little moment compared with such 
 beauty. And there are, moreover, times when 
 sightless eyes could prove of advantage in a 
 [87]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 wife " An evil smile twisted his ugly face 
 
 into greater repulsiveness. 
 
 To Sun Yat the Soothsayer he confided his 
 reflections later that same evening. 
 
 "I have seen the little white wife of Wong 
 Ting Fu," he told him, small eyes narrowed to 
 a slit of contemplation. "And her face is that 
 of a lily floating upon the dark waters of a 
 pond . . ." 
 
 "She is blind," pointed out Sun Yat with a 
 shrug of his shoulders. 
 
 "... a lily floating upon the dark waters of 
 a pond ! repeated Yoh Kee. 
 
 Then, suddenly: "Listen well, Soothsayer, 
 while I confide to you that which Wong Ting 
 Fu the Manchu has himself forgotten, but mem 
 ory of which burns like an unextinguished flame 
 in my breast: Once, long ago, in China, did 
 Wong Ting Fu steal from my waiting arms a 
 bride because of her foolish tears and protesta 
 tions. Wherefore did I cause her pretty throat 
 to be slit from ear to ear so that it gaped like 
 a crimson mouth, spilling forth her insignifi 
 cant life. Yet because Wong Ting Fu himself 
 has gone unpunished is there a stain upon my 
 honor. First will I clear my honor by destroy 
 ing Wong Ting Fu, and then to his spirit shall 
 come the mewing of a blind kitten !" 
 [88]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Wong Ting Fu has sworn to protect his 
 own," pointed out Sun Yat, his own eyes nar 
 rowing maliciously. He would not further the 
 plans of Yoh Kee by a single overt act, nor on 
 the other hand would he hinder them by so much 
 as a warning, his craven soul already rejoicing 
 in the discomfiture of Wong Ting Fu in whom 
 he jealously recognized a nobler being. 
 
 Yoh Kee smiled a smile which was a revela 
 tion of cruelty. Was I not a killer of men in 
 China?" he demanded. "And is not the ad 
 vantage mine in that Wong Ting Fu knows not 
 Jiis enemy?" 
 
 "Even so!" agreed Sun Yat. 
 
 There came, then, a beginning of evil days for 
 Wong Ting Fu, when every enterprise to which 
 he turned his hand rebounded upon him dis 
 astrously and during which he became slowly 
 aware of forces banded together to destroy him. 
 
 First an unexpected visit of revenue officers 
 in search of contraband goods goods which 
 Wong Ting Fu, knowing nothing of them what 
 ever, was naturally surprised to find cleverly 
 concealed beneath the boards of his floor. It 
 cost him a staggeringly heavy fine, together with 
 a sharp warning, that altogether unwelcome 
 visit of the revenue officers, a fine which left 
 [89]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Wong Ting Fu counting his resources with a 
 tiny line of worry between his curved brows. 
 
 On another evening a party of quiet Orientals, 
 apparently sunk deep in poppy-tinged dreams, 
 became suddenly and amazingly violent, smash 
 ing his expensive furnishings and pipes to use- 
 lessness, necessitating further unwelcome ex 
 penditure. After that surprising evening Wong 
 Ting Fu sat even longer in thought with the 
 line of worry deepening in his forehead. Un 
 doubtedly he had made a powerful enemy, since 
 even in the simplest things he had a vague feel 
 ing of powerful forces operating against him. 
 But who? 
 
 Then there came that altogether frightening 
 time when Wong Ting Fu, going down the sea 
 road with Rosy May on his arm, was set upon 
 by a gang of roughs from the tramp steamer 
 Nancy Lee. And even as he went down under 
 their kicking, stamping boots he heard Eosy 
 May s low moan of utter terror. Only the op 
 portune arrival of the Melbourne police saved 
 the life of Wong Ting Fu from flickering out 
 under those cruelly heavy boots that night. 
 Miraculously, although bruised and beaten, he 
 had no bones broken, and Eosy May he found 
 fallen to the ground in a heap of moaning 
 terror. 
 
 [90]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "I am afraid!" she sobbed poignantly as he 
 helped her up. 
 
 "Be not afraid, Little Dove Which Nests in 
 My Heart," he soothed. "Have I not prom 
 ised to you all things beautiful and nothing 
 ugly?" " 
 
 And, looking up into the twinkling stars there 
 was in the tone of Wong Ting Fu and in his 
 quiet face a something of challenge. 
 
 Once again, with Rosy May on his arm, guid 
 ing patiently her uncertain steps, he was set 
 upon by an intoxicated sailor who slapped his 
 face roughly with a coarse: "Take that, yer 
 damned yeller chink a-takin up with a white 
 girl!" 
 
 And Wong Ting Fu, the blood of princes riot 
 ing furiously in his veins, yet remembering in 
 time the perpetual darkness surrounding Rosy 
 May and that the laws of Australia favor the 
 white man and not the yellow, quietly mopped 
 the blood from his bruised cheek and turned 
 away, catching the grimace of chagrin distort 
 ing the brutish face before him. 
 
 "... and nothing which is ugly!" repeated 
 Wong Ting Fu to himself through clenched 
 teeth. There was in his heart a sort of dazed 
 bewilderment. All he asked of life was peace 
 and quiet and enough to care tenderly for one 
 [91]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 small blind woman. Yet even this, it seemed, he 
 must fight for and fighting an unknown enemy 
 was such disheartening work . . . 
 
 Then, after a period of suspense had dragged 
 by, and Rosy May was beginning to complain 
 at being deprived of her evening walks by the 
 sea she so loved, came the afternoon when he 
 returned home after a necessary errand to hear 
 his rooms echoing with shrill screams of help 
 less terror. 
 
 In the middle of the tiny garden on the roof 
 he found Rosy May, sightless eyes wide with 
 fright, arms outstretched helplessly. 
 
 "Wong Ting Fu . . . Wong Ting Fu!" she 
 sobbed agonizingly. 
 
 "What has happened, Little Heart ?" he de 
 manded anxiously above the laboring of his 
 lungs. 
 
 She sank against his breast with a sob of 
 relief. 
 
 "A man . . . here!* she told him in gasps. 
 "He said . . . oh, horrible things, Wong. 
 Never have I heard such things I And I could 
 not see " 
 
 "And then?" insisted Wong Ting Fu, his 
 muscles taut beneath his satin sleeves. 
 
 "You came and he went away." 
 
 With his long slender hand Wong Ting Fu 
 [92]
 
 suddenly lifted one of her smaller white ones 
 clenched tightly in the agony of fear. G-ently 
 he opened it, freeing carefully a small shred of 
 cloth and a button. 
 
 "So !" said Wong Ting Fu very quietly, with 
 something terrible in that very quietness as he 
 looked down at a bit of black and white checked 
 cloth. And once again: "So!" said Wong 
 Ting Fu. 
 
 Tenderly he guided the trembling Rosy May 
 down the narrow stairs to the room with the 
 casement windows, establishing her on the nar 
 row couch, heaping the scarlet and purple pil 
 lows beneath her head, smoothing her bright 
 gold hair gently with his hand, until the quick 
 ened breathing of fear changed into that of 
 slumber. Then, and then only, did he go to a 
 chest of carven ebony inlaid with pearl, his 
 groping hand emerging with a short curved 
 blade of keen steeL Contemplatively he re 
 garded it. 
 
 "The teachings of Buddha do not hold with 
 killing, he said to himself softly. * * Yet by any 
 law and by any creed is it permitted a man to 
 slay to save his honor or to protect his own!" 
 
 Then, sitting there in the room with the scar 
 let curtains, his eyes upon the sleeping Rosy 
 May, Wong Ting Fu prayed long and fervently 
 [93]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 to the Lord Gautama Buddha and afterwards 
 entirely as an afterthought, that no deity might 
 be unpropitiated he prayed to the pale Christ 
 of the Christians. 
 
 Presently, when the shadows of twilight were 
 filling the room, he awakened Rosy May. "Eat, 
 Little Dove, > he commanded, placing upon her 
 knees a tray bearing snowy kernels of rice, pre 
 served ginger, and a nourishing thick soup. 
 
 When she had finished he assisted her into a 
 robe of cherry satin embroidered in gold, with 
 ornaments of crystal jade and emerald, last of 
 all adding tiny embroidered slippers and plac 
 ing flowers in her bright hair. 
 
 "And is it a feast day?" asked Eosy May 
 in bewilderment. 
 
 "Perhaps for us who knows?" returned 
 Wong Ting Fu strangely. "And now, Plum- 
 blossom, it is necessary that I leave you for a 
 short time. Sit here by the open window where 
 the waxen frisias are blooming thus would I 
 hold you in my thoughts until my return. Your 
 robe is red, the color of courage ; your hair, the 
 shade of garnered sunlight. Indeed are you 
 beautiful to-night, Little Princess. And be 
 cause where beauty is thieves come to plunder, 
 so must the arm of Wong Ting Fu be strong to 
 protect the wealth of the beauty which is his !" 
 [94]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "You are so strange!" whispered Rosy May 
 through aching throat. "I am afraid, Wong 
 TingFu." 
 
 " Strange?" said Wong Ting Fu tenderly. 
 "Not so, My Rosebud. Being blind, you see 
 strangeness where there is none ! 
 
 After which, on his velvet slippers, carefully 
 choosing his way, Wong Ting Fu went to the 
 shop of Nat Hong Ku, wealthy merchant from 
 Soochow, his one intimate friend in the Street 
 of a Thousand Delights. 
 
 "0 Respected Elder Brother of Great Wis 
 dom!" he greeted him, coming into the little 
 room behind the great store of Nat Hong Ku 
 and seating himself beside the reclining Nat 
 Hong Ku after due exchange of courtesy. "All 
 these things has the Mudturtle from Canton 
 done to me!" Gravely he recited his experi 
 ences. "Wherefore this is the problem which 
 vexes me: If this Pudding on Legs slay me, 
 there remains as his prey my little wife. If I 
 slay her to protect her from the pig from Can 
 ton, then shall my days be long and empty of 
 meaning!" 
 
 "Indeed so!" agreed Nat Hong Ku, empty 
 ing his tiny scarlet-tasseled pipe and looking 
 regretfully backward over his own life. 
 
 "Yet if I slay the little wife and myself, which 
 [95]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 is permitted as an honorable deed, then is our 
 next life a business of uncertainty : Who knows 
 that we shall be together?" 
 
 "Even so !" agreed Nat Hong Ku cordially. 
 "So you have decided?" 
 
 * * I have decided to slay this fat-bellied frog I 
 emptying his own pipe with decision. 
 
 "Wisely have you decided, Dragon Brood," 
 spoke Nat Hong Ku thoughtfully, his lean 
 powerful face turned toward Wong Ting Fu. 
 "Truly in the nostrils of the worthy, Yoh Kee 
 is a stinking and a reproach! Wherefore, 
 should you ah most regrettably fail, I will 
 assume care of your little wife." 
 
 Hand met hand, sealing the agreement, and 
 carefully Nat Hong Ku got to his feet. "Wait 
 here, O Cousin to the Yellow Emperor," he 
 bade. "I will send Yoh Kee to you. But I my 
 self shall not be returning, thus avoiding in 
 formation dangerous both to myself and your 
 august person." 
 
 "Even so!" agreed Wong Ting Fu in ad 
 miration. 
 
 In the shadow behind the door he waited 
 patiently, caressing between his sinewy fingers 
 the bright curved bit of steel, listening to the 
 softly retreating footsteps of Nat Hong Ku. 
 [96]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 And to him presently came Yoh Kee, his 
 greedy stomach already agape for the rare deli 
 cacy Nat Hong Ku had gravely promised him. 
 
 "0 Creeping Slime from the Gutter O Fat- 
 Bellied Frog!" greeted Wong Ting Fu, slam 
 ming the door. Many things have you done to 
 me and mine, but now now!" Something im 
 mense and terrible seemed to emanate from 
 him, eliciting a squeak of fear from Yoh Kee. 
 And then, since even a cornered rat will fight, 
 desperately he flung himself forward into com 
 bat with Wong Ting Fu, their shadows mingling 
 in a fantastic mass flickering upon the opposite 
 wall . . . 
 
 Just what took place in that back room of 
 Nat Hong Ku is something nobody rightly 
 knows except perhaps Wong Ting Fu, creeping 
 home through the alley shadows an hour later. 
 Certainly the philosophical Melbourne police 
 who found Yoh Kee two weeks later, swollen 
 face upturned in a distant alley, never learned, 
 abandoning the inquiry after fruitless question 
 ing as "just another Chink case!" 
 
 Even Rosy May, adored wife of Wong Ting 
 Fu, knows only that Wong Ting Fu returned 
 home on that night, seemingly a little wearied. 
 
 Long he stood in the doorway before enter- 
 [97]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 ing, perhaps feeling the give of a huge chest 
 beneath his knee, perhaps still choking beneath 
 the pressure of iron fingers around his throat. 
 
 "You are late!" greeted Rosy May plain 
 tively. 
 
 "Let us light the lanterns, Bud of Beauty !" 
 returned Wong Ting Fu, his breath rasping in 
 his throat. f t Since for us it is, after all, a feast 
 day." 
 
 Carefully he lit tall wax candles before the 
 bronze Buddha and lighted hanging lanterns 
 upon the wall until prisms of scarlet and purple 
 and vivid blue fell across the soft tones of the 
 rug from China. 
 
 "Tell me what you saw on your way here," 
 urged Eosy May. And then again, with a trace 
 of wistfulness: "You are late ..." 
 
 "I was delayed," explained Wong Ting Fu, 
 removing his torn and stained coat and replac 
 ing it with a finer one. And at something in 
 his voice Rosy May felt suddenly a chill wind 
 blowing across her heart. 
 
 "I am afraid!" she cried, beginning to 
 tremble. 
 
 Wong Ting Fu gathered her to his heart. 
 "Be not afraid, My Lotus Bud," he soothed. 
 "See, I will tell you what I have seen: On my 
 way here I passed a garden. And in that gar- 
 
 [98]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 den stood a single flower. A most beautiful 
 flower, Heart of My Heart, unfolding all its 
 beauty in the sun of love. And I stopped to 
 look at the flower, marveling at its beauty. And, 
 My Pearl, I saw then in the heart of that so 
 beautiful flower a creeping, loathsome thing 
 threatening the very life of the flower. So I 
 paused to destroy the creeping thing " 
 
 "And the flower will bloom!" finished Rosy 
 May happily, dropping her bright head against 
 his satin-clad shoulder. 
 
 "And the flower will bloom!" assented Wong 
 Ting Fu, looking down into the delicate white 
 face against his breast. 
 
 [99]
 
 "THE GORGEOUS JEST"
 
 IT seems incredible in this day of labor laws, 
 vice commissions, and other palliatives to 
 the misery of the human lot, that Loo Sing 
 Foo should have purchased for a sack of Chi 
 nese coins all the beauty, all the sweetness, and 
 all the natural joyousness which was Chia Sung, 
 obtaining her the more cheaply because of the 
 slight infusion of white blood which was her 
 casual heritage. 
 
 But this, although the restaurant of Loo Sing 
 Foo with its peacock feathers and fly-specked 
 chandeliers still stands in that street in Mel 
 bourne known among the Chinese as The Street 
 of a Thousand Delights, is a story of an alien 
 civilization lying nearer the rising sun, a story 
 faintly redolent of exotic oriental perfumes cut 
 occasionally by the acrid fumes of poppy smoke, 
 yet holding a scattered note or two of pure 
 melody akin to that of some ancient temple 
 bell worn thin with the usage of centuries or 
 the measured chanting of scarlet robed priests 
 intoning in a cloistered garden. 
 Even the very characters in the story are 
 [103]
 
 THE STREET OF. A 
 
 slightly fantastic, like dream figures glimpsed 
 in the instant of waking: Loo Sing Foo the 
 Magnificent, with his great yellow strength in 
 which lay something of the sleek cruelty of a 
 striped jungle tiger; Chia Sung with her pearl 
 white face, her glory of bronze hair, and her 
 wistful, long-lashed gray eyes; Loo Chang 
 Yung with his twisted leg, his gentle voice, 
 and his poetic soul, slaving away his life as a 
 cashier in the restaurant of Loo Sing Foo, his 
 inner self climbing constantly higher in search 
 of the dreams which thronged his poet s 
 brain all these are vaguely distorted, as if seen 
 through a mist of that same poppy smoke so 
 prevalent in the Street of a Thousand Delights. 
 
 Chia Sung came to Loo Sing Foo as his pur 
 chased bride, sent by a matchmaker in the 
 Walled City, after her dainty photograph hap 
 pened to hit the exact center of his august fancy. 
 Her price was high, a fact at which the thrifty 
 Loo Sing Foo grumbled exceedingly, although 
 to Sun Yat the Soothsayer he boasted of this 
 same price pridefully, disdainfully making clear 
 his disapproval of the laxly raised daughters 
 of the Street of a Thousand Delights. 
 
 " Shall I not have a wife reared in the old 
 custom of docility and obedience, yielding trust 
 fully to my guidance and seeing in me all the 
 [104]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 virtues?" he demanded of the interested Sun 
 Yat, strutting back and forth across the floor 
 of the Gathering Place of the Most High, con 
 scious that he had the eyes and ears of his audi 
 ence. "And what against all these is a matter 
 of a thousand pounds English to a wealthy man 
 like myself?" 
 
 "True, Magnificent One!" agreed Sun Yat 
 soothingly, letting fall his handful of painted 
 ivory sticks and bending down to read the 
 omens of the coming marriage. l * Yet the omens 
 forecast no sons from the marriage, and I see a 
 gathering cloud ..." 
 
 Loo Sing Foo, momentarily taken aback, re 
 covered his poise. "Chia Sung is beautiful as 
 the dawn and of extraordinary accomplishment 
 all these things has the matchmaker guaran 
 teed," he brought out haughtily. "Wherefore 
 
 it may be I shall love her. As to the other " 
 
 he shrugged aside the prophecy indifferently. 
 * Cannot another female body less beautiful give 
 forth life? When Chia Sung shall have most 
 regrettably ceased to delight my days can I not 
 sell her where beauty is desired and sons are 
 not taking to myself another wife less beauti 
 ful but more praiseworthy in giving me the 
 sons of my desire, thus securing to myself a 
 pleasant memory of love and the certainty of a 
 [105]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 son to pray beside my grave?" Proudly he 
 preened himself in his handsome embroidered 
 coat. "For love is a tinted bubble of beauty 
 which, even after its bursting, leaves behind its 
 glowing memory. And, I ask you, what is old 
 age without its memories?" he finished. 
 
 A ripple of appreciation ran around the 
 gravely listening circle. 
 
 "Truly you are wise, Younger Brother," 
 murmured Nat Hong Ku the merchant thought 
 fully, refilling his ornate pipe, eyes narrowed 
 as he thought back to the love of his early days. 
 "For what is old age without its memories?" 
 
 "Yet are the omens unfavorable!" brooded 
 Sun Yat. "No sons . . . and a creeping 
 shadow ..." 
 
 Sen Yeng, brother merchant of Nat Hong Ku, 
 his great bulk relaxed comfortably against his 
 cushions, regarded Loo Sing Foo sourly. "The 
 bride with her beauty and her accomplishments 
 may not love you, Magnificent One, he sug 
 gested bitterly, remembering of his own experi 
 ence a bride who had failed to love where duty 
 bade. 
 
 "Am I not The Magnificent?" demanded Loo 
 
 Sing Foo. 1 1 Have not hearts quickened for me 
 
 since first the shadow of down darkened my 
 
 lip ? ATii I > He threw his handsome head back, 
 
 [106]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 laughing exultantly with a flash of white teeth. 
 . " It is indeed a matter of whether I shall love 
 the little bride, not the bride love me ! 
 
 From where he reclined, Loo Chang Yung, 
 younger brother of Loo Sing Foo, raised con 
 templative eyes to the strutting magnificence of 
 his elder brother. "And yet," he observed 
 gently, * all this of which you speak, Peacock 
 Spreading Its Feathers, is not love!" 
 
 The eyes of the two met and clashed. "Does 
 a cripple speak knowingly of love, Foolish 
 One?" asked Loo Sing Foo bitingly. 
 
 "Is my heart crippled?" disputed Loo Chang 
 Yung quietly. "Am I not a poet, and does not 
 a poet feel? And is not love a bird which nests 
 in strange branches?" 
 
 A roar of approval greeted this sally. 
 
 "Truly, the wit of the poet limps not, how 
 ever his legs be bent!" praised Nat Hong Ku 
 appreciatively, laying a kindly hand on the slen 
 der shoulder of Loo Chang Yung. 
 
 A flash of sheer fury leaped from the eyes of 
 Loo Sing Foo as he regarded the younger 
 brother he had never been able to overawe with 
 his magnificence. Always, in spite of his own 
 far greater material possessions, in spite of his 
 physical superiority, in spite of his title of The 
 Magnificent, he sensed in the quiet eyes of Loo 
 [107]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Chang Yung a lurking disapproval which ran 
 perilously close to contempt. There were even 
 times when he had a swift, unsettling intuition 
 that Loo Chang Yung alone saw him as he 
 really was, and that his magnificence was only 
 a cloak thinly shielding him from the recogni 
 tion of his fellow men. Wherefore, quite natu 
 rally, he hated Loo Chang Yung, tolerating him 
 only because he was useful and his labor cheap. 
 
 "Some day, Thorn in My Flesh, will I 
 repay your insolence," he said now to Loo 
 Chang Yung, restraining his fury. i But now 
 now it pleases me better to let my thoughts 
 dwell, as befitting a bridegroom, upon the flower 
 coming from the Walled City to be my bride. 
 A pause, while his eyes ranged contemptuously 
 around the circle of watching faces. "And the 
 bride will love me!" he challenged. "For am 
 I not Loo Sing Foo, The Magnificent?" 
 
 "Yet are the omens bad!" murmured Sun 
 Yat as the door closed behind him, wrinkling 
 his ancient forehead. "No sons and a spread 
 ing cloud ..." 
 
 Even in the first moment when she stood be 
 fore him in the center of the room behind his 
 restaurant, a tired, infinitely pathetic little 
 figure huddled above her box of possessions, 
 [108]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 long-lashed gray eyes fearfully seeking his, Loo 
 Sing Foo decided Chia Sung had all the white 
 beauty of lilies dreaming in the moonlight or of 
 a snow-clad mountain peak in the rays of dawn. 
 The matchmaker had not lied in the recital of 
 her beauty; his bargain was good. 
 
 In his lordly manner he strutted up and down 
 before her, noting with approval her wealth of 
 bronze hair, her delicate features, the small 
 hands and feet. Undoubtedly her heritage of 
 white blood showed, but not unpleasantly so. 
 
 "Am I not magnificent?" he demanded re 
 gally of the weary Chia Sung. 
 
 * None more so, Great One ! she returned 
 politely, trying to subdue the trembling of her 
 limbs, yet divining, with some queer prevision 
 of knowledge, the streak of cruelty which pre 
 dominated in Loo Sing Foo, like a scarlet thread 
 in a bit of dull old tapestry. 
 
 "And a husband for any bride, however beau 
 tiful!" pursued Loo Sing Foo, demanding his 
 meed of admiration greedily. 
 
 "Indeed!" agreed Chia Sung, sucking in her 
 breath courteously. 
 
 "And since you are but a woman, a bearer of 
 men children and a washer of pans, great is my 
 condescension in stooping to lay my love at your 
 feet," explained Loo Sing Foo loftily. 
 [109]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 A ripple of emotion crossed Chia Sung s 
 white face. * Indeed 1 she agreed, bowing her 
 head submissively. 
 
 "And doubtless in return for my condescen 
 sion you will love me greatly?" finished Loo 
 Sing Foo, stopping before her. 
 
 A rush of faint color came and went in Chia 
 Sung s face. "How should I dare?" she re 
 turned almost inaudibly. "How should I 
 dare?" 
 
 Loo Sing Foo regarded her down-turned face 
 thoughtfully. Had the drop or so of foreign 
 blood troubled the still pool of her docility? 
 "Ah, Little Bud Closed Against the Sun of 
 Love," he sighed sentimentally. "Beneath the 
 warmth of my affection shall you open, expand 
 ing into greater beauty ..." 
 
 Into the room came Loo Chang Yung, the 
 restaurant closed, his money box in his hands. 
 
 "My bride, Foolish Younger Brother," 
 said Loo Sing Foo harshly. And to Chia Sung : 
 * My brother, a worthless cripple, who lives by 
 my bounty." 
 
 Upon the poetic vision of Loo Chang Yung 
 the wistful, appealing beauty of Chia Sung 
 burst with all the unexpectedness of a rising 
 sun, her weariness stirring him to pity. 
 
 "She is tired, Magnificent One, and weak 
 [110]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 from her long journey," he said in his gentle 
 voice. "Moreover, she is strange in her new 
 home. Permit her to rest in quiet." 
 
 The frightened gray eyes met his. Impul 
 sively Chia Sung put out both hands to the 
 owner of the gentle voice. "I am afraid!" she 
 shivered. 
 
 Loo Chang Yung took the outstretched hands 
 protectively, marveling at their sinallness. "Be 
 not afraid, Little Troubled Heart," he soothed. 
 "Why should there be fear where there is cause 
 for none? Is that not true, Magnificent 
 One?" 
 
 But Loo Sing Foo stood silent, a dark frown 
 upon his handsome forehead, hands clenched 
 in his wide sleeves. Docility, submissiveness, 
 obedience . . . and yet resistance to him, The 
 Magnificent One. Looking from Chia Sung to 
 his brother, tiny lines of cruelty appeared sud 
 denly around his mouth and eyes. "Why should 
 there be fear where there is cause for none, 
 Younger Son of My Mother?" he agreed silkily. 
 
 Royally Loo Sing Foo The Magnificent wooed 
 Chia Sung of the lilting laugh, the tiny feet, and 
 the flower-like hands, heaping gifts prodigally 
 upon her. Jade ornaments for throat, ears, and 
 high coiffure. Silken gowns lavishly embroi- 
 111]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 dered in scarlet, black, and gold. Fans ex 
 quisitely painted and inlaid with pearl. Bare 
 confections in quaint pots and baskets. A vic- 
 trola with strange Chinese records jostling 
 American jazz. Even, in his determination, he 
 condescended to the singing of Cantonese love 
 ballads in his flat, nasal voice. 
 
 All of which was wasted upon the inapprecia- 
 tive Chia Sung. Outwardly obedient, Chia Sung 
 remained as remote in reality as some far away 
 bird skimming the upper cloud circles or a mer 
 maid deep in the caverns of a fathomless sea. 
 Only in the glance which occasionally sought 
 and found Loo Chang Yung was any quality of 
 emotion visible. And always, when Loo Sing 
 Foo put his inevitable question in one of its 
 many forms, came back her unchanging an 
 swer. 
 
 "And perhaps, Most Beautiful, the ice sur 
 rounding your heart is beginning to melt in the 
 warmth of my love?" would query Loo Sing 
 Foo smoothly. 
 
 And: "Are there not mountain tops upon 
 which the ice never melts, however warm the 
 Sun, Magnificent One?" would retort Chia 
 Sung demurely. 
 
 Meanwhile the dwellers of The Street of a 
 Thousand Delights recognized the dilemma of 
 [112]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Loo Sing Foo with restrained glee, tongues 
 tucked slyly in yellow cheeks, eyes discreetly 
 downcast as he passed, only as he well knew 
 to open wide in derision upon his retreating 
 back. 
 
 And once, in the Gathering Place of the Most 
 High, Sen Yeng the merchant dared to question 
 him openly. "You have found your bride 
 ah entirely satisfactory? * he said purringly. 
 
 "She has the beauty of a budding rose," re 
 torted Loo Sing Foo sturdily. * * Could any man 
 ask more?" 
 
 But his pride suffered mightily beneath the 
 titter which smote his ears as the door closed 
 behind him, and beneath the understanding 
 smile in the quiet eyes of Loo Chang Yung. 
 
 Slowly the situation waxed intolerable as he 
 redoubled his efforts to batter his way into the 
 stubborn heart of Chia Sung. 
 
 "Write for me a song, O Poet," he com 
 manded regally of Loo Chang Yung. "A song 
 to melt a heart of stone." 
 
 And Loo Chang Yung, smiling a strange 
 smile, wrote a song for Chia Sung of a caged 
 bird beating against bars. 
 
 In his flattened, nasal, sing-song voice, Loo 
 Sing Foo intoned the song, gratified to see tears 
 in Chia Sung s almond-shaped gray eyes. 
 [113]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 " You are moved, Tender Little Heart?" lie 
 questioned eagerly. 
 
 "By the song," admitted Chia Sung. "Yet 
 is the song not your song, Magnificent One. 
 For where there is no heart there can be no 
 
 song. And in place of a heart you have " 
 
 she paused provokingly. 
 
 "Yes?" demanded Loo Sing Foo eagerly. 
 
 "A picture of your august self," finished 
 Chia Sung. 
 
 Slowly the red of anger flushed Loo Sing 
 Foo s haughty face. With one snap he broke 
 the quaint guitar over his knee. 
 
 "Not thus is the manner of a bride raised 
 in the habit of obedience," he said stormily, 
 "Perhaps unkindness will soften the stubborn 
 heart which fails to yield. Henceforth not the 
 gown of silk, the many cushioned bed, the costly 
 food, nor even the gift of freedom, until the 
 dawn of reason dispels that willful stubborn 
 ness." 
 
 Into the half -closed eyes of Chia Sung came 
 the familiar glint of resistance. 
 
 "As you wish, Magnificent One!" she said 
 softly. And from that very softness Loo Sing 
 Foo received a chilling premonition of defeat. 
 
 Days followed, during which Chia Sung, look- 
 [ 114 ]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 ing out through shuttered windows at the clutter 
 and untidiness of The Street of a Thousand De 
 lights, sank into despair and her scarlet lips 
 faded to delicate pink. And yet the strange 
 something which stiffened her to unyielding re 
 sistance persisted. Poor little Chia Sung, a 
 thousand times on the point of tearful capitula 
 tion, failed to comprehend that the strange stub 
 bornness was part of her mixed inheritance, 
 coming down to her in devious and untraceable 
 ways from ancestors facing stake and faggot 
 unflinchingly for the sake of upholding a prin 
 ciple. In her despair she sobbed protest against 
 this quality of spirit from which her weaker 
 flesh rebelled, and Loo Chang Yung, passing her 
 door in the quiet evenings after the restaurant 
 closed, felt his heart expand with pity. 
 
 In his gentle way he undertook to lighten her 
 punishment with unexpected surprises now a 
 packet of appetizing food to enrich her meager 
 fare ; now a flower tossed hurriedly through the 
 grating in her door ; once a queer puzzle game 
 to make long hours shorter; sometimes when 
 he was certain Loo Sing Foo was far away a 
 whispered snatch of conversation. 
 
 And finding in the gentleness of Loo Chang 
 Yung a something she had never known be 
 fore, the stubborn heart of Chia Sung turned 
 [115]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 to his gentleness as naturally and inevitably as 
 a flower opening to sunlight. 
 
 There came, then, an evening when Loo 
 Chang Yung, pushing his hand through the 
 grating with a budding flower, felt soft lipa 
 pressed against it and withdrawn in a panic. 
 After which he went, in a daze of happiness, 
 and sat upon the roof beneath the stars, living 
 again that soft pressure upon his hand, his 
 heart alternately reechoing with the name of 
 Chia Sung and hot with bitterness against Loo 
 Sing Foo. 
 
 Once again, on the very next day, Loo Sing 
 Foo, finding the situation intolerable to his 
 pride, and feeling his overstrained patience 
 slipping, put his inevitable question to Chia 
 Sung. 
 
 "And doubtless, O Pearl of Great Price, you 
 are beginning to love me greatly?" 
 
 Chia Sung, her ears filled with the sound of 
 a gentler voice, made her unchanging answer 
 with the familiar shudder of repulsion. "How 
 should I dare, Magnificent One, how should 
 I dare!" 
 
 Only this time the mighty arm of Loo Sing 
 
 Foo struck out in exasperation, crushing the 
 
 words back against her lips, and she fell to the 
 
 floor, a bruised little huddle, not even under- 
 
 [116]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 standing in that last moment of consciousness 
 whence came the strength to defy him. 
 
 There the irate Loo Sing Foo left her, neg 
 lecting to lock the door in his rage, so that it 
 was Loo Chang Yung who came at length and 
 lifted her to the narrow couch beside the wall, 
 bathing the white face gently until the gray, 
 long-lashed eyes opened upon him. 
 
 "I want to die!" said Chia Sung pitifully 
 through bruised lips. I want to die ! " 
 
 "0 Little Mourning Dove!" remonstrated 
 Loo Chang Yung. "Life may yet hold many 
 things for you." 
 
 The bruised lips twisted into a bitter smile. 
 
 "There is, for instance, love ..." explained 
 Loo Chang Yung softly, a tenderness shining 
 forth in his disturbed face. 
 
 "Love is not for the purchased bride of Loo 
 Sing Foo, the Magnificent." Her fluttering 
 hands went to her breast. "Of what use, Loo 
 Chang Yung, is a woman in this world of ment " 
 
 "In the days when the two-inch shortness 
 of my leg seemed a great trouble," said Loo 
 Chang Yung in a low tone, "it seemed to me a 
 cripple was of no use in a world of straight- 
 legged men! Yet now I think differently. 
 Other worlds, other ways; other races, other 
 customs. See, Little Bird Beating Its Wings 
 [117]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Against Bars, there is a land where the little 
 wife walks beside her husband instead of ten 
 paces behind; where the little wife is served 
 first at table ; and where the beauty of the wife 
 comes before the strength of the husband. In 
 this land is a religion which thinks first of the 
 soul and not of the twisted body, a religion for 
 the troubled at heart ..." 
 
 1 Ahi ! exclaimed Chia Sung eagerly. * Tell 
 me of this way of thinking. 
 
 1 It is called the Jesus way, said Loo Chang 
 Yung simply. 
 
 Then, sitting there holding her fevered hands 
 in his, in his quaint colorful speech, Loo Chang 
 Yung endeavored to make clear something of 
 the ideal of the Carpenter of Nazareth. "And 
 because it is a faith for the troubled in heart, 
 it called to me," he finished. 
 
 "It is like the tales told to little frightened 
 children which soothe them to quiet sleep!" 
 marveled Chia Sung, breath fluttering through 
 parted lips. "Yet when I look at you, Loo 
 Chang Yung, I understand. For always I see 
 a straight and shining you, and never the leg 
 which limps." 
 
 "0 Little Vine Which Twines Around the 
 Pillars of My Heart!" said Loo Chang Yung, 
 with the sentimentality of a Chinese poet. 
 [118]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "But there is Loo Sing Foo!" reminded 
 Chia Sung, tears in her gray eyes. "If but 
 you and I together could travel the Jesus way, 
 Loo Chang Yung . . ." 
 
 "As you say," agreed Loo Chang Yung with 
 a sigh. * There is the Magnificent One. 
 
 And, looking up at that very instant, Chia 
 Sung barely suppressed a scream of sheer ter 
 ror as Loo Sing Foo advanced into the room, 
 a something sinister exuding from him which 
 chilled the blood in her veins. 
 
 Am I not magnificent ? demanded Loo Sing 
 Foo gutturally of Chia Sung, grinning with 
 rage. 
 
 "None more so!" acknowledged Chia Sung 
 through white lips. 
 
 "Then, Little Flower Which Blooms for 
 Another, it is ah most unfortunate that you 
 have failed to love me. For shall Loo Sing 
 Foo the Magnificent sip honey from the cup 
 yielded to a cripple? Not so! Wherefore" 
 he paused, prolonging the moment of suspense 
 "wherefore I will sell you where the beauty 
 meant to delight a husband shall be a source 
 of joy to many ! 
 
 "You do not dare!" cried Loo Chang Yung 
 furiously, his gentle eyes aflame. 
 
 "And wherefore?" challenged Loo Sing Foo 
 [119]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 with a shrug. "For of what use is a flower 
 without perfume; a lamp without a burning 
 wick; a setting without a jewel? Or perhaps, 
 Fool, you have wealth with which to pay the 
 purchase price?" Maliciously he waited while 
 Loo Chang Yung s downcast face proclaimed 
 his poverty. Then, indifferently, he strutted 
 toward the door. 
 
 * Of what use to look the door of a cage when 
 the singing bird has flown?" he questioned, as 
 he left the door open behind him. 
 
 "Do not grieve, Little Mourning Dove!" 
 urged Loo Chang Yung, raising Chia Sung with 
 her tear-stained face and pitifully drooping 
 mouth in his arms. 
 
 "You heard?" Frantically her hands beat 
 against his breast. "0 One Who Holds My 
 Heart in His Hands, you will not let this thing 
 
 A pause. Incense spluttered in its burner. 
 Chia Sung placed her lips close to his ear. 
 "Kill him!" she whispered breathlessly. "If 
 you love me then kill him ! 
 
 A longer pause. Anxiously she hung against 
 him, eyes imploring. 
 
 "Should I raise my hand against the other 
 son of my mother?" questioned Loo Chang 
 [120]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Yung sorrowfully. Not thus is the Jesus way, 
 Breath of My Life!" 
 
 "And am I nothing?" sobbed Chia Sung 
 poignantly. 
 
 Quaintly, in his old world, stilted manner, 
 Loo Chang Yung made it very clear that she 
 was the breath of his nostrils, the beating of 
 his heart, the pulsing in his veins. 
 
 "Then," argued Chia Sung passionately, "if 
 these things be so kill him!" 
 
 Unhappy eyes stared into unhappy eyes. Loo 
 Chang Yung held Chia Sung closer. 
 
 l Believe with me, Chia Sung, he murmured. 
 "Only have faith and all will be well." 
 
 Another pause. And then, of a sudden, all 
 the hardness went out of Chia Sung. She re 
 laxed in his anxious arms. 
 
 "Because I love you, I will have faith," she 
 said sobbingly. "Yet should the Jesus god fail, 
 then will I send my soul to rejoin my ancestors. 
 For how could I, loving you, rest in the arms 
 of another?" 
 
 "Chia Sung!" 
 
 "Without sight of your face I should be as a 
 flower deprived of sun, sobbed Chia Sung. 
 
 After he had gone she fell upon her knees 
 beside the window, looking up to the quiet stars, 
 [121]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 fiercely tormented by an absence of symbols to 
 cling to. " Jesus god ! said little Chia Sung, 
 tears rolling down her white cheeks. "I, Chia 
 Sung, will believe yet strain not that belief 
 beyond the point of breaking!" 
 
 Hurrying through the sights, the smells, the 
 puddles and littered refuse of a population in 
 different to laws of sanitation, Loo Sing Foo 
 stopped at the house of one Sun Lee, ostensibly 
 a purveyor of rare spices, to the initiate a killer 
 of men, plying his profession honorably, not for 
 personal reasons, but purely as a matter of 
 business. 
 
 Placidly sipping scalding hot tea from a blue 
 Canton bowl, he received Loo Sing Foo with 
 surprise. "Greeting, Magnificent One!" he 
 greeted politely. "My humble dwelling is 
 honored by the dust from your august foot 
 steps." 
 
 Indifferently Loo Sing Foo shrugged aside 
 his courtesy. "You are a killer of men," he 
 said bluntly to Sun Lee. 
 
 "I am a cleanser of honor, a restorer of face, 
 a riddance to enemies, a payer of revenge!" 
 protested Sun Lee, his face creasing into a thou 
 sand wrinkles. "My hand is old yet steady; 
 my feet are slow but noiseless. I know a poison 
 [ 122 ]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 which leaves no trace for the bothersome for 
 eign devils with their meddling ways. 
 
 "Yet," said Loo Sing Foo significantly, "sup 
 pose a wise man had two enemies, and the one 
 died suddenly, leaving, say ah some article 
 by which the foreign devils would conclude the 
 other had killed him!" 
 
 "The foreign devils would surely kill that 
 other!" returned Sun Lee cheerfully, finishing 
 his bowl of tea. 
 
 * Thus ridding the wise man of two enemies, 
 and causing him to gain face as the originator 
 of such a satisfying revenge, finished Loo Sing 
 Foo, laying down a small pouch which chinked, 
 beside which he placed a knife. 
 
 Sun Lee pursed his thick lips thoughtfully. 
 1 The knife ? " he inquired. 
 
 "Is the knife of my brother, the cripple," ex 
 plained Loo Sing Foo. 
 
 "A most estimable young man ! praised Sun 
 Lee politely. 
 
 "Who will perhaps not be a cripple in that 
 world to which the quick justice of the foreign 
 devils will speedily send him." 
 
 * A kindly thought ! purred Sun Lee. * And 
 the other?" 
 
 "There is a merchant, one Hong Fong, whose 
 manners have at times annoyed me, informed 
 [123]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Loo Sing Foo graciously. "Beside which I 
 covet his greatly inferior eating-house." 
 
 1 1 Ah ! agreed Sun Lee. Then : In the mat 
 ter of a double killing such as this the price 
 should be double." 
 
 "I have paid you well," frowned Loo Sing 
 Foo. l Do then thy work well, Gorging Pig ! 
 
 Sun Lee sat studying the door which closed 
 behind the back of his visitor with mingled emo 
 tions, the ruffled feathers of his pride angrily 
 resentful. 
 
 "Truly, Arrogant One," he muttered to 
 himself, "I should prefer to sink this knife in 
 your haughty back. Yet is business business, 
 
 and I am an honorable man " Greedily he 
 
 proceeded to the pleasant task of counting the 
 sack of coins. This highly agreeable perform 
 ance finished, he lifted the knife thoughtfully. 
 
 "AM!" he said aloud, thinking of Loo 
 Chang Yung and his gentle, courteous ways. 
 "Truly it is a pity for such a gentle throat to 
 be stretched by the rope of the foreign devils. 
 Yet is business business!" 
 
 And in his turn, seeking the consolation of a 
 sympathetic listener, Loo Chang Yung went to 
 Nat Hong Ku, wealthy merchant and wearer of 
 the title, "Most Wise." 
 
 [124]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "0 You Who Have Been A Lover," he 
 greeted, sinking down into the heap of cushions 
 indicated. "Listen to the tale of one who is 
 also a lover, and then bury the tale deeply in 
 your heart that the merely curious may not 
 read. 
 
 To the interested Nat Hong Ku, his narrow, 
 powerful face wreathed in fumes which served 
 only to clarify his keen Oriental brain, he re 
 lated the story of Loo Sing Foo, Chia Sung, and 
 himself. 
 
 "And she loves me, a cripple!" he finished 
 exultantly, his voice trembling with emotion. 
 1 * Many things have I lacked in life ; Chia Sung 
 would repay for all." 
 
 "Why not ah " suggested Nat Hong Ku 
 
 delicately, having no love for the overbearing 
 Loo Sing Foo. 
 
 Loo Chang Yung shrugged. "It is not the 
 teaching of the Jesus god," he explained. 
 
 Ah ! " A silence, broken only by the sizzling 
 of an opium cube. Nat Hong Ku considered. 
 "For me the old customs and the old gods," he 
 said finally. "Yet you are young, and to the 
 young is ever the need of change. Which is as 
 it should be, since before progress must come 
 change." Again he considered deeply. "Be 
 not disturbed, Younger Brother," he coun- 
 [125]
 
 ,THE STREET OF A 
 
 seled. "For who can know to-day what is on 
 the knees of the gods for to-morrow?" 
 
 Vaguely cheered, Loo Chang Yung took his 
 departure. And once again Nat Hong Ku con 
 sidered long and deeply. 
 
 "A man grown big with arrogance is like a 
 pig s bladder puffed over-full of air," he 
 brought out profoundly at last. * Needing but 
 the prick of a pin to cause his collapse into 
 nothingness." 
 
 Clapping his hands, he summoned a servant. 
 "I would speak with Sun Lee, the Killer," he 
 commanded. 
 
 He sat on, thinking of certain happenings in 
 his own past, until the fat face of Sun Lee ob 
 truded upon his vision. 
 
 1 Greeting, Highly Respected One ! " he said 
 courteously to Sun Lee. "Have then a pipe 
 with me, a scarlet pipe with tassels of gold as 
 befitting your station. 
 
 The several chins of Sun Lee quivered with 
 pleasure as he responded with fulsome flatteries 
 which Nat Hong Ku cut short. 
 
 "You are a killer of men," he observed 
 gently. 
 
 "Indeed so!" assented Sun Lee pridefully. 
 "A most necessary occupation, Most Wise." 
 
 "Indeed so!" agreed Nat Hong Ku politely. 
 [126]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Yet for a man of such delicate sentiment and 
 understanding, a most difficult profession." 
 
 "Business is business!" shrugged Sun Lee 
 deprecatingly. 
 
 "Yet where business can be combined with 
 sentiment?" suggested Nat Hong Ku. 
 
 "That is indeed a rare opportunity!" ad 
 mitted Sun Lee, smacking his thick lips over 
 a tumbler of Chinese rice whiskey cut with 
 anise. 
 
 "Then listen well," commanded Nat Hong 
 Ku urbanely. And in his dreamy way, in his 
 exquisitely modulated Oxford voice, he pro 
 ceeded to tell the childlike Sun Lee the un 
 happy love tale of Loo Chang Yung and Chia 
 Sung, dwelling upon the pathos of their situa 
 tion until tears rolled down the fat cheeks of 
 Sun Lee. 
 
 "And so, unless Loo Sing Foo is ah re 
 moved, they must be forever separated," he 
 finished. 
 
 With the name of Loo Sing Foo, however, 
 Sun Lee recalled his profession. 
 
 "It is sad," he agreed philosophically. 
 "Yet is business business." 
 
 "Nobly said," concurred Nat Hong Ku 
 keenly, depositing a fat sack bursting with 
 coins at his feet. "And a good deed well done 
 [127]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 should be handsomely repaid." Then, as Sun 
 Lee rose to his feet: "My own daughter I 
 shut into a cage . . . and she died!" he said 
 softly. "Wherefore will I give the gift of 
 freedom to another little caged bird, and per 
 haps her spirit will be pleased." 
 
 In a dazed stupor Sun Lee found his way to 
 the street, clutching in his fat hands the bulg 
 ing sack of coins, a thinner and less weighty 
 sack of coins concealed in his wide sleeve, his 
 fuddled wits grappling with the problem pre 
 senting itself to a man of scrupulous honor. 
 
 "If I kill the merchant and Chang Yung is 
 hanged, then will I frustrate the purpose of 
 Nat Hong Ku, who is a mighty man!" he 
 reasoned unhappily. "Yet if I kill Loo Sing 
 Foo, and not the merchant, I cannot, as a man 
 of honor, retain the money of Loo Sing Foo, 
 nor could I return it, Loo Sing Foo being ah 
 regrettably dead!" 
 
 Then, in one swift brilliant conclusion, he 
 achieved a solution, thoughtfully hefting one 
 sack and then the other in his pudgy hands. 
 
 "Business is business!" said Sun Lee aloud 
 thriftily. "And the sack of Nat Hong Ku is 
 more than twice as heavy wherefore shall I 
 slay Loo Sing Foo. And the sack he has given 
 to me will I, in turn, give to the lovers as a 
 [128]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 bridal gift which is doubtless what the spirit 
 of Loo Sing Foo would prefer. Wherefore 
 will my honor be clean, the pathway of the 
 lovers clear, and I will gain standing with Nat 
 Hong Ku, who is, when all is said, a man of 
 power. Alii what a gorgeous jest! The 
 money which was to have bought a necklace 
 of rope for Loo Chang Yung, the cripple, shall 
 buy him as a necklace the soft arms of a bride ! 
 
 Then, standing there in the bright moonlight, 
 before setting out upon business which in 
 volved leaving Loo Sing Foo in an alleyway 
 with his arrogant face bruised into the mud 
 and his magnificence sadly dabbled, Sun Lee 
 laughed great peals of Gargantuan laughter 
 until tears ran down his fat cheeks and his fat 
 stomach quivered like a jelly pudding. 
 
 A passing Chinaman in a black skull cap, 
 his arms folded deeply in his black cotton 
 sleeves, paused to inquire the cause of his 
 merriment. 
 
 "I laugh, Brother to a Toad," said Sun 
 Lee with dignity, "at a gorgeous jest . . . 
 a most gorgeous jest!" 
 
 But prudently he refrained from further ex 
 planation. 
 
 [129]
 
 "MEI-LI THE BEAUTIFUL"
 
 IT was Moy Yeng, who had loved her, who 
 found Mei-Li the Beautiful floating face 
 upward in the silver waters of the sunken 
 pool, agitated goldfish flashing away to either 
 side of her in swift red flight, upon her slim 
 throat the violet imprints of ten powerful 
 fingers. 
 
 And because-, even in that moment of violent 
 death, Mei-Li the Beautiful was still fair, Moy 
 Yeng, who was both poet and artist, disre 
 garded his grief to pay involuntary tribute to 
 that deathless beauty. 
 
 "Mei-Li . . . always the Beautiful!" he 
 sighed sorrowfully, looking downward to 
 where silver rays of moonlight impacted 
 against that floating face. And then: "Yet 
 is beauty a troubled possession!" 
 
 In which, without knowing it, he- epitomised 
 the short career of Mei-Li in a single pithy 
 sentence. 
 
 Looking at the tragically brief life of Mei-Li 
 from its very beginning in the yamen of a 
 mighty official of China to the moment when 
 [133]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 that same life flickered out in a gasping, chok 
 ing struggle in the waters of the sunken pool, 
 the single fact of her amazing beauty stands 
 out starkly like the scarlet thread coloring and 
 influencing a bit of dull old tapestry. 
 
 Every crisis in her life was produced and 
 decided by her beauty, which was inescapable 
 and which dowered her from birth. The vari 
 ous people influencing her destiny were them 
 selves influenced by that beauty, reacting to it, 
 each in their own fashion, with emotions of 
 jealousy, envy, hate, or love, according to his 
 or her capacity. 
 
 She was, in the very beginning, the daughter 
 of a powerful Chinese official and his concu 
 bine, unwanted in view of her sex until the fact 
 of her promised beauty endowed her with a 
 prestige of her own which reflected back upon 
 the mother, a circumstance of which the concu 
 bine was not slow to take advantage. 
 
 * See, Lord of My Heart, would purr the 
 slave girl contentedly to the official. " Regard 
 what beauty has my child which is also thine. 
 Like a lotus bud newly unfolded, or a willow 
 tree in spring . . . Ahi! Nowhere in all this 
 land is such a one ! 
 
 And: "Does not this child come rightly by 
 her heritage of beauty, Most Fair?" would 
 [134]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 argue the official politely. "Is not the beauty 
 of her mother like to the full moon floating in 
 midnight skies, or to a flowering cherry tree?" 
 
 "Such compliments for a lowly one pur 
 chased for a handful of Chinese silver ! would 
 protest the slave girl then, leaning back hap 
 pily against the broad shoulder clad in silken 
 robes of state, the fragrance of peach-blossom 
 reaching him from her shining black hair, car- 
 mined lips drooping into a childish pout of 
 pleasure. 
 
 And, listening, all the content in the heart of 
 the Great Wife of the official, whose beauty 
 was not like to a full moon floating in midnight 
 skies, curdled into the acid of jealousy. 
 
 "Truly the clucking of the slave woman over 
 the beauty of this little female dog does offend 
 my ears!" she said to herself more than once. 
 
 Wherefore, at her command, the child was 
 stolen at dawn from the side of the sleeping 
 mother, to be thrown into the nearby river. 
 
 But that same beauty which had so incensed 
 the Great Wife softened the heart of the coolie 
 carrying out her instructions. Standing upon 
 the muddy banks of the swirling river, he gazed 
 dubiously from the tiny upturned face in his 
 arms to the eddying depths of water. 
 
 l The fate which yawns greedily for its victim 
 [135]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 will not be cheated, reflected the coolie to him 
 self sapiently. "If this child be meant to die 
 by drowning, then die by drowning it will, re 
 gardless of me. Wherefore it is unnecessary 
 for my hand to assist in the accomplishment of 
 destiny. Thus, by refraining from the actual 
 act of drowning, will I gain both in peace of 
 mind and in standing with the gods for a deed 
 of mercy!" 
 
 So thinking, he shrugged aside responsibility 
 by leaving the infant in its wrappings beside the 
 road which followed the river, returning to the 
 palace where the slave girl, awakening to an 
 emptiness of shielding arm, was destroying the 
 peace of dawn with her lamentations. 
 
 Eventually, under the influence of coercion 
 the mere relation of which would be horrifying 
 to Occidental ears, the coolie confessed his 
 crime. But by this time Mei-Li had vanished 
 entirely, and, sitting beside a window facing 
 the river, watching buzzards wheeling in the 
 air and thinking of the horrible fates which had 
 possibly overtaken the frail blossom of her flesh, 
 the slave girl drooped and pined and finally 
 died. 
 
 By the side of the river road, along which 
 he was fleeing the just wrath of the Dowager 
 Empress because of his unwise political activ- 
 [136]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 ities, Chang Yung, once a Chinese gentleman 
 learned in matters of Chinese art, chanced upon 
 the bundle of wrappings containing Mei-Li. * A 
 girl child!" he exclaimed in disappointment, 
 and moved a few steps onward. 
 
 Then, remembering the promised beauty of 
 that tiny face, Chang Yung, gentle of heart and 
 lover of all things beautiful, was irresistibly 
 drawn back, resuming his flight with Mei-Li 
 cradled in his arms. 
 
 The act which seemed sheer folly proved the 
 height of wisdom. Because of the child in his 
 arms the watching soldiers of the port failed to 
 recognize in Chang Yung the distinguished po 
 litical rebel, and he gained a ship sailing for 
 Australia. 
 
 In Melbourne, in The Street of a Thousand 
 Delights, which duplicates with its sights and 
 smells and its lack of sanitation the cluttered 
 streets of China, Chang Yung, taking the price 
 from the quilted money jacket which he wore, 
 purchased a shop from a countryman desiring 
 in his old age to return to the land which had 
 given him birth. 
 
 The rooms above the shop he furnished gor 
 geously with lacquered furniture, quaint flower 
 pots bearing insignia of dragon and chrysan 
 themum, embroidered screens, painted beds 
 [137]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 heaped high with pillows of purple and gold 
 and crimson, the finest of dishes and copper 
 cooking implements, and, lastly, a shrine with 
 its attendant incense pots. 
 
 Behind the shop he laid out a courtyard which 
 might have been lifted bodily from that land 
 he had so loved with its tiny pagodaed teahouse, 
 its trailing vines covering rough stone walls, its 
 paths tracing between gorgeous flower beds, and 
 its sunken goldfish pool. 
 
 And here, for fifteen years thereafter, Chang 
 Yung lived in great peace and tranquillity, re 
 spected by all and happy in his business of sell 
 ing things of beauty. From one to another of 
 his rare bits of porcelain or carving he would 
 pass in ecstasy, now raising a piece of clear, 
 spinach-green, translucent jade to admire the 
 matchless shading of color, now holding up a 
 bit of rare embroidery to catch the light on its 
 faded tones, now examining with a thrill of 
 sheer delight a tiny Ming figurine cunningly 
 fashioned by fingers long since turned to dust. 
 And sometimes, with a feeling akin to rever 
 ence, he would strike softly upon a gong filched 
 from some ancient temple, reconstructing from 
 its mellow chimes the scene of its original use : 
 The immense figure of the Goddess of Mercy 
 perhaps, with its thousand yellow painted hands 
 [138]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 and row upon row of candles, its gray-robed 
 old priests, its petitioning women worshipers, 
 and the wailing beggars without the temple. 
 
 And then, for a brief interval, the heart of 
 the exile would be heavy with hunger for the 
 banished land with its superstitions and its 
 cruelties, its streets cluttered with cheap life, 
 its rivers crowded with sampans, and its gar 
 dens fragrant with plum and cherry. But 
 always across the drift of his memories the 
 thought of Mei-Li the Beautiful would cut like 
 a pungent and arresting perfume, dissipating 
 them into mist. 
 
 Something of the ecstasy he had for his rare 
 objects of art blended subtly in his feeling for 
 Mei-Li. She was so perfect to look upon, little 
 Mei-Li. No sculptor in pink marble could have 
 given her more delicate lines or a more tender 
 modeling of dainty limbs. Straight dark hair 
 piled high over a delicately broad forehead, tiny 
 ears, hands, and feet, dark slanting eyes and a 
 crimson flower of a mouth, the meekness of 
 the slave mother and the fire of the haughty 
 official ... all these were Mei-Li the Beautiful. 
 
 Truly in the land from which we came your 
 
 feet would have been bound to insure their 
 
 smallness!" w T ould sigh Chang Yung, gazing 
 
 upon the untrammeled Mei-Li dancing around 
 
 [139]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 the garden in her satin trousers. "And yet, 
 watching you dance, I am reminded of tall lilies 
 swaying in the breeze. 
 
 She was reared in the cloistered seclusion of 
 a maiden of old China, little Mei-Li, in ways of 
 modesty and decorum. Not for her the freedom 
 of the noisy streets with their inevitable harvest 
 of unsavory knowledge. For, as Chang Yung, 
 smoking in company with his associates at The 
 Gathering Pla.ce of the Most High, often said: 
 "She is as beautiful as the pink of unfolding 
 dawn . . . and as unspotted with the taint of 
 evil." 
 
 Just to look at Mei-Li with her gowns of gay 
 brocade, her ornaments of pearl and jade and 
 beaten gold, her perfumes of sandalwood and 
 musk and jessamine, her shining hair smoothed 
 into elaborate coiffure, her skilled fingers draw 
 ing from silver lute or quaint guitar the mel 
 odies of the Far East was to see a vision lifted 
 from the courtyard of some old Chinese castle. 
 Chang Yung, in his hunger for the banished 
 land, never tired of seeing her dance beside the 
 sunken pool in her gleaming satins, or of hear 
 ing her sing in her clear sweet voice some 
 saccharinely sweet melody of flowers blooming, 
 blue skies, and a pair of lovers. 
 
 Sitting placidly in the shadow, his thin yellow 
 [140]
 
 face calm and peaceful under its black skull cap, 
 his body decorously clothed in dark satin as be 
 nts a man of substance, white silken socks pro 
 truding from black velvet padded slippers, 
 Chang Yung would sit and dream beneath the 
 magic of that limpid voice, refilling his tiny tas- 
 seled pipe time and time again from the pot of 
 rare tobacco beside him. Opium he did not 
 smoke, it being, in his scholarly estimation, 
 merely a means of winning dreams for those 
 who of themselves had none. 
 
 So, all in all, Mei-Li was an unceasing joy to 
 him, amply repaying his investment in time and 
 money. Every luxury he could procure was 
 hers, and when sometimes she would protest 
 against his extravagance, he would hold his head 
 a little to one side like some kindly old bird, and 
 retort : 
 
 "Sufficient to the jewel must be its setting - 
 and I ask you: "Where is there jewel more 
 worthy of its setting?" 
 
 But if in his careful rearing of Mei-Li Chang 
 Yung followed the customs of old China, in one 
 thing he departed from ancient custom. When 
 rumor spread a report of the beauty of Mei-Li 
 through The Street of a Thousand Delights, 
 bringing suitors in plenty for her hand, always, 
 disregarding the advantages of the proposed 
 [141]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 match, Chang Yung made the same reluctant 
 answer to each : 
 
 "When the fruit leaves the tree, then is it 
 gone forever . . . wherefore should it be al 
 lowed to ripen fully upon the tree ! > he would 
 say in his gentle way. A pause. And then: 
 "Moreover, some things there are in my stock 
 of wares which I sell to any purchaser. But 
 other things there are and which I have loved 
 the best which I do not sell until the right pur 
 chaser comes. For always is there the rightful 
 owner for every thing of beauty. And what 
 have I more beautiful than Mei-Li the Beauti 
 ful!" 
 
 Because Chang Yung was highly respected in 
 The Street of a Thousand Delights, patiently 
 the suitors bided their time all except Hugh 
 Sing, the importer. 
 
 He was both rich and powerful, the tall, lean, 
 wrinkled Hugh Sing, with his flat forehead, his 
 tiny pig eyes spraying out fanwise into lines, 
 and his enormous, sinewy, yellow hands. In the 
 Sing tong of which he was head, all members 
 rose to their feet when he entered and remained 
 standing until he was comfortably and deliber 
 ately seated upon his heap of cushions. Quite 
 naturally, since he was accustomed to deference 
 [142]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 in all things, Hugh Sing was irked by the edict 
 of Chang Yung. 
 
 " Truly," he pointed out with dignity to the 
 inappreciative Chang Yung, "is it an honor for 
 the head of the Sing tong to ask in marriage a 
 girl found abandoned upon a roadside. How 
 know I that the marriage will meet with the 
 favor of the gods? Yet because of her exceed 
 ing beauty which burns in my heart like 
 flame will I overlook the matter of her an 
 cestors. Moreover" his desire for Mei-Li 
 overcoming his natural thrift will I give you 
 a thousand pounds English." 
 
 But Chang Yung, his eyes fixed placidly on 
 a strip of yellow satin covered with Chinese 
 ideographs setting forth sayings of the unknown 
 Chinese philosopher who came before Confucius, 
 smiled indifferently. 
 
 "There are in my shop articles not for sale 
 at any price save to the rightful owner!" he 
 retorted. "Many summers have passed over 
 your august head, O Prince of Merchants, insur 
 ing wisdom indeed. Yet is wisdom not appre 
 ciated by the } r oung, requiring the savor of ma 
 turity for full appreciation. Youth calls to 
 youth, Most Wise. Mei-Li the Beautiful is 
 but a hummingbird flying in the sun of youth, 
 [143]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 while you, Highly Respected One, are a beetle 
 courting the shadows of age. And it is the 
 nature of a hummingbird to yearn for a hum 
 mingbird. Some day there will be for Mei-Li 
 the Beautiful another hummingbird, a male 
 hummingbird, Most High ..." His gentle 
 old eyes brooded off into space. He seemed 
 oblivious of the presence of Hugh Sing. 
 
 White with rage, Hugh Sing took himself 
 away, to plot and connive in secret, desire for 
 the beauty of Mei-Li gnawing at his very soul. 
 
 Another year passed, during which Moy Yeng, 
 nephew of Chang Yung and generously educated 
 at his expense, came from England to help care 
 for the shop and to sit beside Chang Yung, while 
 pretty Mei-Li danced in the moonlight. To 
 gether the two young people made music for the 
 gentle old man, the tall solemn young Chinese 
 with his deep brown eyes and his carefully 
 spoken English, and dainty Mei-Li with her 
 dreaming face and her laugh like a cadence of 
 tiny silver bells. 
 
 Sometimes, catching the eyes of Moy Yeng 
 fixed upon her, into the heart of Mei-Li would 
 come a dawning glory, causing her breath to 
 flutter with its very sweetness. And Moy Yeng, 
 gazing upon the tender beauty of Mei-Li, would 
 feel in his brain a sudden rush not unlike the 
 [144]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 whirring of a flock of teal into motion, experi 
 encing a sudden dimness of vision. But between 
 the two at that time was only an attraction, a 
 wistful drawing of each to each which, given 
 time and opportunity, would ripen into the love 
 not yet present. 
 
 So, in the house of Chang Yung life was very- 
 pleasant in those days, but in the dwelling-place 
 of Hugh Sing, with its bare floors, its enamel 
 furniture, and its costly beds hung with scarlet 
 curtains, life was not so pleasant. Madam Ah 
 Tsi, mother of Hugh Sing, and San Me, his wife, 
 no longer in her first bloom, clung together in 
 mutual amity, burying their grievances against 
 each other as the craving of Hugh Sing for the 
 beauty of Mei-Li quickened his temper and 
 hardened his hand. 
 
 " Truly," queried Madam Ah Tsi acidly of 
 her son, hitting at his accustomed stinginess, 
 "does thy purse gape with coin eager for the 
 spending? And is not the symbol for trouble 
 two women under one roof? Then* wherefore 
 add to trouble by putting three women under 
 one roof!" 
 
 "Had I mountains of silver, I would give 
 them all for Mei-Li!" retorted the infatuated 
 Hugh Sing, growing more sullen as time passed. 
 
 "Truly," complained San Me in secret, "I 
 [145]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 know not whether it be worse if he win this 
 interloper or worse if he fail!" Then, raising 
 her voice to the point of tears in complaint, 
 * Have I not been a good wife ? Have I not been 
 the mother of sons to mourn at his grave long 
 distant be that day! Have I not been docile, 
 obedient, patient in what have I failed?" 
 
 "All these things have you been," consoled 
 the mother-in-law. "Yet are these things as 
 nothing when love enters the heart of a man. 
 For what is past is past. And what is to be 
 . . . will be!" 
 
 Whatever his ultimate plans for Mei-Li, 
 Chang Yung did not live to see them fulfilled. 
 Unexpectedly he dropped asleep, sitting in a 
 great armchair, caressing an exquisite bit of 
 carved jade with his thin yellow fingers. From 
 that sleep he never wakened, and in due time, 
 in a handsome metallic coffin, he went back to 
 that land which had driven him forth, and which 
 opened to receive him again into its vast silence,- 
 affording him the futile pomp of fifty mourners 
 clad in white and a procession of ten shaven- 
 headed Buddhist priests intoning the virtues 
 of the departed. 
 
 And on the very day that Chang Yung went 
 back to China, Hugh Sing, repairing to the 
 Gathering Place of the Most High to enjoy a 
 [146]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 pipe of choicest chandoo, entered there into deep 
 converse with two others of the Sing tong, the 
 brothers Lu. 
 
 "I hear the esteemed Chang Yung has 
 ascended the dragon," said Hugh Sing decor 
 ously, when the small black cube was sizzling 
 in the blue flame. 
 
 "Indeed so," assented the elder brother, a 
 plump little man with beady eyes not unlike the 
 currants in an English bun. 
 
 "Before he most regrettably ah passed on, 
 he did promise to me in marriage Mei-Li the 
 Beautiful," purred Hugh Sing. 
 
 "A most auspicious marriage I" pronounced 
 the other agreeably. 
 
 * Yet the nephew, Moy Yeng, not knowing of 
 this promise, may demur, pursued Hugh Sing. 
 "Wherefore were you and your highly esteemed 
 brother witness to the promise of Chang Yung, 
 it would be most fortunate . . . and worth much 
 money to me. * 
 
 The eyes of his two listeners met, narrowing 
 swiftly. 
 
 "The possession of a good memory outweighs 
 the value of precious jewels!" proclaimed the 
 younger brother. "As clearly as a pond mir 
 rors the bending sky do we remember the occa 
 sion of which you speak." 
 [147]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Whereupon the three fared forth to the shop 
 of Moy Yeng, finding him in ecstatic contempla 
 tion of a consignment of rare tapestries. 
 
 1 i Chang Yung, who is no more, and regretta 
 bly cannot testify, has promised to me Mei-Li 
 the Beautiful," informed Hugh Sing smoothly, 
 after the customary flowery Chinese courtesies 
 had been duly observed, and the four were com 
 fortably seated on cushions in the room behind 
 the shop. 
 
 "Indeed!" retorted Moy Yeng thoughtfully. 
 "Yet he made no mention of his wish to me." 
 
 "Who can foretell to-day what to-morrow 
 will bring forth?" shrugged Hugh Sing. 
 "Would Chang Yung know that the days of his 
 life were numbered! Moreover" indicating 
 the brothers Lu "are these two witnesses of 
 his agreement with me." 
 
 "We are witness!" proclaimed the brothers 
 sonorously. 
 
 A silence. Hugh Sing took up the argument 
 again. "You stand in place of a son to Chang 
 Yung, who regrettably had no son of his blood 
 to mourn for him," he said softly. "And the 
 first wish of a dutiful son is to honor the com 
 mand of the dead, thus insuring peace to the 
 departed spirit." 
 
 [148]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "It is true," agreed Moy Yeng, frowning. 
 "And yet . . ." 
 
 Something of the gossip he had heard regard 
 ing the shrewish mother of Hugh Sing filtered 
 into his disturbed mind. Involuntarily he 
 thought of the tender beauty of Mei-Li at the 
 mercy of unkind hands. 
 
 "It is the duty of a Chinese son to honor the 
 wish of the dead," repeated Hugh Sing inex 
 orably. 
 
 And at that, offsetting all the years of his 
 education in a foreign land, the weight of ac 
 cumulated centuries of deference to the wishes 
 of dead ancestors brought pressure upon Moy 
 Yeng, overruling his personal reluctance. 
 
 "If the marriage pleased my uncle, it pleases 
 me," said Moy Yeng politely, but with some 
 thing of regret pulsing beneath his courteous 
 words. 
 
 Palm met palm, sealing the agreement. 
 
 After Hugh Sing had departed with his silent 
 witnesses, Moy Yeng sat on in the deserted 
 room, thinking over the coming marriage. 
 Presently he went reluctantly out to where Mei- 
 Li, sitting upon the stone coping of the sunken 
 pool, was throwing bread crumbs to the goldfish. 
 
 "Soon must you exchange the snowy gar- 
 [149]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 merits of mourning for the crimson ones of re 
 joicing!" he said haltingly to her. 
 
 The bread in her slender fingers dropped un 
 heeded to the ground. Into the eyes of Mei-Li 
 came a softness. One hand went up to her slim 
 throat. 
 
 "Soon you go with your belongings to the 
 house of Hugh Sing, who is, when all is said, a 
 man of wealth and power," continued Moy 
 Yeng. 
 
 And then, without looking at her, he knew 
 that all the brightness had vanished from her 
 face. 
 
 "I . . . must leave you?" whispered Mei-Li 
 the Beautiful, regarding him with the eyes of 
 a child given a blow where a caress was ex 
 pected. 
 
 "Chang Yung, who was my uncle, arranged 
 the marriage. And in all things must his wish 
 be obeyed, explained Moy Yeng, wondering at 
 his own feeling of guilt. 
 
 "I did not think that Chang Yung, after many 
 years of kindness, would prove unkind at last !" 
 said Mei-Li gently. 
 
 * * Yet must his wish be honored, insisted Moy 
 
 Yeng, gazing upon the beauty of Mei-Li with a 
 
 troubled hunger. "We are not as the foreign 
 
 devils, living for ourselves alone. Always do 
 
 [150]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 we honor the wish of the dead before the wish 
 of the living." 
 
 And then, looking at the clean young strength 
 of Moy Yeng with a sort of wistfulness which 
 held a prevision of the vanished youth and 
 shrunken ugliness of Hugh Sing, Mei-Li flamed 
 surprisingly to words of protest. 
 
 "Was I saved from the river for this?" she 
 demanded passionately of the startled Moy 
 Yeng. "Must the life of a Chinese woman be 
 doomed to the hazard of unhappiness from 
 birth? And is love, which is the song of all 
 the world, to be left always to chance when life 
 without love has a grayness like unto a weeping 
 day? How know I if Hugh Sing be young or 
 old, handsome as the dawn, or ugly beyond 
 compare?" 
 
 Remembering Hugh Sing, Moy Yeng was 
 moved to pity. * * The wish of Chang Yung must 
 be obeyed," he repeated gently. 
 
 As suddenly as it had come, revolt died out 
 of Mei-Li, the deeply ingrained habit of obedi 
 ence reasserting itself. "What is left for me 
 but to obey?" she murmured. "Truly is life a 
 flower with many thorns ! 
 
 With hanging head she moved away, and Moy 
 Yeng, watching the drooping figure recede, felt 
 as if in some way he had betrayed a trust. 
 [151]
 
 ,THE STREET OF A 
 
 "Truly is the path of duty set with sharp 
 stones for the feet of the unwary!" he sighed 
 to himself. "Yet always, beyond all else, must 
 the wish of the dead be honored/ 
 
 So, in a rented hack decked with crimson, 
 Mei-Li went to Hugh Sing, and with her first 
 glance at his wrinkled face the sense of being 
 cheated strengthened until it overshadowed all 
 else. 
 
 Hugh Sing was kind. Moreover, he was gen 
 erous under the influence of the alien emotion 
 which flamed in his middle-aged breast. Gifts 
 without number he showered upon his bride, 
 delighting in the beauty which so enthralled him. 
 And seeing, San Me his wife, and Madam Ah Tsi 
 his mother, waxed sullen and resentful. 
 
 Always Mei-Li was conscious of their un 
 changing enmity. Their fulsome compliments 
 were spiced with insincerity, their frequent 
 criticisms with the malice of envy. 
 
 "He has given to this water-fowl dresses of 
 silk and satin and rare jewels, yet to me, the 
 mother of his sons, has he given nothing at all ! " 
 sobbed San Me angrily to Madam Ah Tsi. 
 
 Madam Ah Tsi spread her hands in a gesture 
 
 of resignation. "When love comes in at the 
 
 door, wisdom goes out at the window!" 
 
 Placidly she filled a cup with tea sun-dried with 
 
 [152]
 
 {THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 yellow flowers of jessamine. "And certainly 
 Hugh Sing loves Mei-Li the Beautiful!" 
 
 "Her beauty blooms in his heart like some 
 exquisite flower, making him young again!" 
 wailed San Me in a tone of anguish. * * And me 
 I am old. 
 
 The slanting eyes of Madam Ah Tsi narrowed. 
 "Likewise am I old," she acknowledged. "But 
 in my life have I seen many strange things. 
 Even have I seen love used as a weapon to de 
 stroy the thing beloved ! Moreover, though he 
 bar with gold his silver door, a man cannot keep 
 the wife who loves him not. 
 
 "You are most wise, Honorable Mother," 
 returned San Me respectfully, her nimble fingers 
 busy with a strip of fine embroidery. "Yet 
 could thy wisdom rid this house of the hated 
 Mei-Li, then would I hail thy wisdom as greatest 
 in all the world." 
 
 In her turn Madam Ah Tsi regarded the pale, 
 red-eyed San Me with something of sympathy. 
 "You have been a dutiful daughter to me;" she 
 said, not unkindly. "And it is not right that a 
 mother of sons be pushed aside for a newcomer 
 with beauty, since, after all, more precious in a 
 woman is a virtuous heart than a face of 
 beauty ..." She filled and drank another cup 
 of scalding tea deliberately. * To him who waits 
 [153]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 comes ever his opportunity . . . even for re 
 venge. Wait, then, Mother of Sons, for the 
 opportunity which will be ours." 
 
 * * Seven causes are there for the putting away 
 of a wife ! suggested San Me hopefully. 
 
 Madam Ah Tsi sniffed scornfully. "And 
 were there seventy times seven, Hugh Sing in 
 his folly would hold Mei-Li the Beautiful ! She 
 reflected, passing one hand in deep thought over 
 the scalp blackened carefully to conceal her 
 baldness. 
 
 "If the door of a cage be left open, will not 
 the caged bird fly?" she brought out at last. 
 And she smiled a smile which left the watching 
 San Me slightly chilled by its underlying 
 malevolence. 
 
 There followed for Mei-Li the Beautiful lonely 
 days in the house of Hugh Sing, when her ro 
 mantic fancy, fleeing the actuality of Hugh Sing 
 with his wearying compliments and his gloating 
 delight in her beauty, returned to other days 
 and the society of Moy Yeng of the luxuriantly 
 lashed brown eyes and gentle voice. Sitting 
 listlessly, day after day, behind closely shuttered 
 windows, gazing out through a shimmering haze 
 of golden light which revealed indiscriminately 
 the clutter and disorder of The Street of a 
 Thousand Delights and touched the cobalt blue 
 [154]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 of the distant ocean with splashes of silver and 
 rose and emerald, occasionally she recognized 
 the tall, lithe figure of Moy Yeng, following it 
 through the crowds with something of wistful 
 pain. 
 
 No longer was there any joy in the elaborate 
 toilet she made each morning, arranging her 
 shining hair in satin smoothness, rubbing per 
 fumed honey upon her white skin and powder 
 ing it into creamy whiteness with rice powder 
 before painting delicate circles of unfading pink 
 upon the smooth whiteness. Even in the con 
 templation of her own beauty there was no 
 longer any happiness for Mei-Li. 
 
 And, in his turn, Moy Yeng never failed to 
 gaze up at the shuttered windows as he passed 
 the dwelling of Hugh Sing, remembering Mei-Li 
 dancing in her young beauty beside the sunken 
 pool, and the extinguished gladness of her face 
 when he had told her of the coming marriage. 
 
 A time came when Moy Yeng found his gar 
 den haunted with memories, and when the 
 poignant thoughts of Mei-Li turned ever more 
 often to the round ball of sleep which has af 
 forded escape to many a Chinese bride 
 
 And Madam Ah Tsi, watching the changing 
 emotions upon the face of Mei-Li, judged the 
 time ripe for interference. 
 [155]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 "Always does my tender heart sorrow for a 
 caged bird mourning its freedom!" she said 
 softly to Mei-Li one day when Hugh Sing was 
 away on a business trip, stealthily regarding 
 the tears coursing down from under the girl s 
 full white eyelids. 
 
 Mei-Li failed to reply, and craftily she pro 
 ceeded. "Moreover, where a bird flies willingly 
 into a cage, who shall be blamed for shutting 
 the door? Yet where the bird is caged by a 
 trick, then is advantage taken unfairly." 
 
 "There is a meaning in thy words, Honor 
 able Mother, which escapes the slowness of my 
 wits," returned Mei-Li heavily. 
 
 And then, watching carefully, seeing the sud 
 den rush of angry color in the young face oppo 
 site, Madam Ah Tsi related the tale of Hugh 
 Sing s trickery with the witnesses. 
 
 Never did the highly respected Chang Yung 
 mean for you to marry Hugh Sing," she 
 finished. "Many times did he refuse him, say 
 ing : Always for every thing of beauty is there 
 the rightful owner. " She paused. "Hugh 
 Sing would be most angry if he knew I told 
 you of this," she finished. "Yet is right right 
 and wrong wrong, and the tongue of a liar forms 
 a noose by which many a wise man has been 
 hung." 
 
 [156]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Softly she withdrew, seeking the society of 
 San Me. "Seed have I sown which will bear 
 fruit ! she told the eager San Me. There re 
 mains but to wait. 
 
 In which she was entirely right. To the 
 heavy heart of Mei-Li her words brought a 
 storm of emotion, deepening the feeling of hav 
 ing been cheated and betrayed into actual hate 
 of the wrinkled Hugh Sing. Close upon thi 
 came a glory of hope: Chang Yung had not 
 meant her to marry Hugh Sing ! Perhaps there 
 would yet be escape from this dreary prison, 
 escape from the gloating fondness of Hugh 
 Sing . . . Perhaps in that garden she had so 
 loved Moy Yeng still remembered . . . 
 
 Later, on that same evening, Madam Ai Tsi 
 and San Me awaited Hugh Sing, dressed in their 
 best, and with triumph in their bearing. 
 
 He came on eager feet. 
 
 4 Where is my Lotus Bud?" he demanded 
 with his first breath. "Many and rare gifts 
 have I brought to her : Necklaces for her neck 
 whiter than the pearls of which they are made, 
 silks for the beauty of her tender flesh, orna 
 ments for her hair which shames the blackness 
 of the night ..." 
 
 Madam Ah Tsi smiled at him placidly. 
 1 ( More precious in a woman is a virtuous heart 
 [157]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 than a face of beauty!" she replied pointedly. 
 "Mei-Li the Beautiful, after days of grieving, 
 has returned to Moy Yeng who was her lover 
 before she was thy wife." 
 
 "Ah!" whispered Hugh Sing, the little veins 
 in his temples swelling into prominence, his 
 small pig eyes glazing over. Again he heard 
 the slightly mocking voice of Chang Tung: 
 * Some day for Mei-Li the Beautiful there will 
 be another hummingbird ... a male humming 
 bird . . ." 
 
 "Wherefore because of this thing does the 
 shining honor of Hugh Sing bear a stain," 
 finished Madam Ah Tsi. The eyes of the two 
 women met. San Me shivered with fright. 
 
 A silence followed during which breath came 
 unevenly through the sagging lips of Hugh Sing. 
 
 "Honor which bears a stain must be 
 cleansed," he affirmed at last. "Men die, 
 women die, love dies ..." his voice trembled. 
 "Yet is honor a deathless thing, handed down 
 from father to son ..." 
 
 Deliberately he moved toward the door with 
 a new and terrible decision, contracting his 
 enormous yellow hands. 
 
 "Is it not a wise mother who knows her own 
 son?" inquired Madam Ah Tsi composedly of 
 the shrinking San Me. "Said I not that love 
 [158]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 becomes a weapon to destroy the thing be 
 loved?" 
 
 He will kill her ! whimpered the frightened 
 San Me, regarding the carefully painted face of 
 Madam Ah Tsi as if it held a baleful fascina 
 tion. 
 
 "He will kill her," affirmed Madam Ah Tsi 
 indifferently, filling her tiny scarlet tasseled 
 pipe with a single pinch of tobacco. "With his 
 great yellow hands he will wring the life from 
 her reluctant body as easily as I twist a flower 
 between my fingers. 
 
 Then, emptying the tiny pipe, and regarding 
 the trembling agitation of San Me with kindly 
 contempt, "Every age has its compensation, 
 O Sheep-Hearted One," said Madam Ah Tsi 
 sapiently. * To Mei-Li was given much beauty, 
 yet to me is given much wisdom. And wisdom 
 is ever a match for beauty." 
 
 In that garden Chang Yung had built, Mei-Li 
 and Moy Yeng were together, Mei-Li coming in 
 upon him, the living embodiment of the dream 
 which haunted his evenings: The same wide 
 dark eyes, the haunting smile, half sweet, half 
 sad, the same poignant delicacy of throat and 
 face which caught his heart and melted it into 
 tenderness. 
 
 [159]
 
 "Mei-Li!" lie cried aloud in wonder. 
 
 "I have come back!" she said, with a sob of 
 sheer happiness. And then, holding out both 
 hands to him: "Why have you given me to 
 Hugh Sing?" she demanded reproachfully. 
 
 "Because my uncle Chang Yung so willed," 
 returned the puzzled Moy Yeng. 
 
 "And if Chang Yung had not so willed 1 ?" in 
 quired Mei-Li with dainty coquetry. 
 
 " Ahi ! sighed Moy Yeng regretfully. 
 
 Mei-Li came closer, walking straight into the 
 arms which involuntarily closed around her, 
 and to him came the perfume of sandalwood 
 from her clinging satins, the scent of peach- 
 blossom from her shining hair, all the myste 
 rious allure which was hers. 
 
 "Do you love me?" asked Mei-Li, looking 
 deep into his eyes. 
 
 Moy Yeng endeavored to regain his firmness 
 of purpose. 
 
 "A Chinese wife does not seek refuge from 
 her husband," he pointed out. "Did the 
 loungers on the street know you were here your 
 name would be a jest upon the lips of the un 
 clean in thought." 
 
 "Do you love me?" insisted Mei-Li tremu 
 lously. Am I not Mei-Li the Beautiful ? 
 
 And then, stammering, Moy Yeng made it 
 [160]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 very clear that to her beauty his very soul paid 
 homage, that his heart beat in time with the 
 sweetness which was hers, and that to him the 
 world without Mei-Li was but a place of arid 
 waste. 
 
 "Ahi!" sighed Mei-Li gratefully, letting her 
 head droop to his shoulder. "These words 
 have my ears long hungered to hear!" 
 
 Still leaning against him, she poured out the 
 tale of Hugh Sing and his duplicity, feeling 
 the shoulder beneath her head stiffen into 
 rigidity. 
 
 "It is not permitted any man of honor to 
 steal the wife of his friend," said Moy Yeng 
 when she had finished, sucking in his breath 
 sharply. "Yet is it permitted any man to re 
 gain what has been stolen unlawfully from 
 him!" 
 
 Then, hojding to him closely all the beauty 
 which was Mei-Li, he reflected aloud anxiously. 
 
 "Long is the arm of the Sing tong, wherefore 
 we must fly beyond reach of that arm. There 
 is, far away, another land, my Plumblossom, a 
 land to which entrance is sometimes denied. 
 Yet by those with money are there arrange 
 ments which can be made " 
 
 "And in this land we shall be, each to the 
 other, enough!" murmured Mei-Li happily. 
 [161]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 "And we shall be, each to the other, all in 
 all!" assured Moy Yeng gravely. "And what 
 against this is a matter of rare tapestries, or 
 jade, or houses, or gardens . . . wherefore I 
 will go at once, Rose of Happiness Which 
 Blooms for Me, to arrange our passage. By 
 the kindness of the Lord Buddha, there is a 
 boat sailing this night . . ." 
 
 "Hugh Sing returns to-night," shivered 
 Mei-Li. And caught him suddenly with fran 
 tically clinging arms. Do not leave me ! she 
 implored. 
 
 "I go but to return," reassured Moy Yeng. 
 "See, Little Frightened Dove, I go to arrange 
 passage to the new land where we shall be 
 happy ..." 
 
 But Mei-Li sobbed pitifully. "The shadow 
 of something terrible has crossed my heart, 
 clouding the sun of my happiness ! she told him 
 between sobs. 
 
 Gently Moy Yeng endeavored to soothe her 
 fears. "Here where we met you will wait for 
 me, My Lotus Bud," he said tenderly. "And 
 memory of thy beauty will speed my returning 
 footsteps. See, Most Beautiful, let me go ! " 
 
 Reluctantly the clinging hands relaxed. 
 There is no place you go so distant I shall not 
 follow!" said Mei-Li strangely. "Nor is there 
 [162]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 any wait so long we shall not be together 
 again ! Looking deep into his eyes, she smiled. 
 1 For where two are in their hearts as one, then 
 is no separation possible !" finished little Mei-Li 
 softly. 
 
 When he had gone, she dropped on her knees 
 beside the stone coping of the sunken pool, 
 watching the goldfish swim lazily back and 
 forth, of a sudden holding up both slim arms 
 to the fullblown moon riding in a tranquil sky. 
 
 " Little Sister Moon ... I am so happy!" 
 sang Mei-Li the Beautiful liltingly. "Never 
 was any one quite so happy!" 
 
 But in the very moment of saying it a chill 
 wind blew across her heart, every shadow and 
 rustling leaf exhaling a subtle menace. 
 
 Then, gazing down into the clear water of the 
 sunken pool with terrified eyes, she saw reflected 
 there the figure of Hugh Sing behind her, im 
 mense and terrible . 
 
 [163]
 
 CHINA HOSE
 
 TWO things had Tsing Chung, Chinese 
 tailor in the city of Melbourne, which he 
 loved with a mighty love as he sat cross- 
 legged day after day upon his table, the round 
 face under his black satin skull cap placid, 
 kindly, and contented : the long line of honorable 
 ancestors passed on to other worlds, and Rose, 
 his yellow haired, slanting eyed, discontented 
 wife, idling in the lacquered splendor of the 
 room he had prepared for her. 
 
 In both of these loves Tsing Chung was per 
 haps unwise. The ancestors summed up in a 
 splendid bronze tablet to which Tsing Chung 
 dutifully rendered daily prayers had left him 
 nothing but a series of obligations in the way 
 of perennial respect and consideration. And 
 concerning Rose, China Rose as she was bet 
 ter known, gossip was rife even in the Chinese 
 quarter, where the names of respectable women 
 are seldom touched upon in polite conversation. 
 
 The reasons for this were many, as many, in 
 fact, as the flagrant offenses committed by 
 China Rose in her gay defiance against Chinese 
 [167]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 etiquette. For one thing she walked abroad on 
 feet which had never known the torture of bind 
 ing, her face in all its bright young beauty bare 
 to the careless gaze of any passerby, rejecting 
 the modest trousers of the Chinese woman in 
 favor of the outlandish, figure-revealing garb 
 of the foreign devils. Frequently she was seen 
 in the pubs of Melbourne deep in conversation 
 with despised females of the alien race. And 
 in a thousand other ways China Rose, in whose 
 reckless veins surged the blood of unknown 
 races, violated the fixed customs of China. 
 
 Sedate old Chinamen in wide sleeves averted 
 their eyes when she passed with her light quick 
 step, splendid shoulders squared proudly be 
 neath her plaid jacket. Children, readily ab 
 sorbing the prevalent gossip and reflecting the 
 attitude of their elders, shook soiled tunics 
 disdainfully at sight of her. And at least once 
 a malicious yellow countryman spat venomously 
 upon the pavement skimmed in her rapid pas 
 sage. 
 
 But China Eose, hearing, only laughed her 
 gay, defiant laugh. 
 
 "They hate me cause I m diff runt," she ex 
 plained to the worried Tsing Chung. "All 
 these fat ole yella men wanta shut me up so s 
 their fat little ole yella wives won t begin 
 [168]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 hollerin tub get out on the streets an see the 
 sights. An all those pasty yella women starin 
 down at me from behind the lattices they hate 
 me cause I m free an they ain t! Y see, Ole 
 Socks" she slapped Tsing Chung gayly 
 upon shoulders rounded from perpetual bend 
 ing over a length of cloth "if you re diff runt, 
 yuh can just make up yer little ole mind tub be 
 hated cause sure as shootin yuh will be." 
 
 "But I love you because you are different," 
 expostulated Tsing Chung, grave eyes upon the 
 willful face and pouting mouth he so wor 
 shiped. 
 
 China Eose shrugged. "That s another 
 story, Ole Socks." 
 
 Then, her spirits flaring to wild exhilaration, 
 she started a noisy record on the talking ma 
 chine with which Tsing Chung had recently de 
 lighted her. "Come on, Ching-a-Ling, " she 
 urged. "Let s try a bit of jazz." 
 
 Grasping the plump Tsing Chung with her 
 strong hands, she pulled him around the room 
 in a patient stumbling effort to follow her nim 
 ble feet. He loved these flaming moments, did 
 Tsing Chung, when her wild humor lifted him 
 high above the prosaic dullness which was his 
 life, in spite of his life, in spite of his secret feel 
 ing that they detracted from his dignity. Per- 
 [169]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 haps the very ability of China Rose to mount 
 above the sordid grayness inclosing him was 
 why he loved her so. 
 
 Of a sudden, breathless, her mood changing, 
 China Rose let him go, herself collapsing onto 
 the couch heaped high with pillows which stood 
 against the wall, sobbing wildly in one of the 
 sudden abandonments of grief which occasion 
 ally visited her. 
 
 Tsing Chung, standing above her in troubled 
 concern, touched the heaving shoulders with 
 solicitous fingers. "You are sad?" he inquired 
 wistfully. 
 
 And China Rose sobbed out her reason. 
 "There s goin to be a baby another little 
 crossbreed like me, Ole Socks." 
 
 Then, rebelliously, looking upward at the look 
 of beatific content spreading over Tsing 
 Chung s full moon face, "Oh, I reckon ye re 
 glad enough, Ole Socks. But me now, I m 
 knowin wot it means tuh be part white an part 
 yella, with yer heart pullin one way an yer 
 yella skin draggin yuh another. It s plain hell, 
 Ole Socks, that s wot it is ! " 
 
 "But you ah are yellow," said the puzzled 
 Tsing Chung. 
 
 "I ain t!" screamed China Rose in a fury. 
 " I m white white white ! 
 [170]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 11 Certainly," agreed Tsing Chung soothingly. 
 "If you wish to be white, then you are white, 
 Eose of My Heart." 
 
 But with his hasty concurrence all the resent 
 ment dropped away from China Rose, leaving 
 her listless against the gorgeous pillows in her 
 pathetic willful youth and beauty. 
 
 "I ain t reelly white, Ching-a-Ling, " she ac 
 knowledged dispiritedly. Maybe I look white, 
 but I ain t. Not reelly. An just that s been 
 eatin on me all my life. It s plain hell, Ole 
 Socks. Buh-lieve me . . . I know." 
 
 And she did know, the knowledge dating back 
 to a time when, even younger, she walked the 
 streets of another country, from the clutter and 
 disorder of Pell Street to where the twisted 
 steel structure of the Elevated crosses the 
 Bowery, tight coat buttoned tautly over the slim 
 figure of fifteen, yellow hair arranged in so 
 phisticated coiffure beneath her enormous 
 hat, tottering along on two inch heels in a cari 
 cature of the popular walk. Even in those 
 days of thin immaturity she had a strange, 
 exotic beauty, which she was rather more 
 than well able to protect from unwelcome ad 
 vances. 
 
 Mr. Dennis Flaherty, upon whose doorstep 
 [171]
 
 chance though unkind people hinted paternity 
 had cast her in a dingy blanket at the tender 
 age of two weeks, applauded her ability to fend 
 for herself. 
 
 "She s tough !" he would confide to the 
 cronies haunting his poolroom. "Gawd, but 
 she s tough that China Rose! She can out- 
 swear me an I m no amachoor. An buh-lieve 
 you me, she packs a wicked wallop in that right 
 arm. Ain t nobuddy goin ta get fresh with her 
 if she don t want it." 
 
 If anybody had whispered to Mr. Flaherty 
 of protecting youthful innocence, he would have 
 stared in amaze. 
 
 "Ain t she yella?" he would have inquired 
 injuredly. "If she wuz white now but she 
 ain t. Look at them slantin eyes!" 
 
 And in his mind it was all clear enough : One 
 set of rules and regulations for the female of 
 the white species, another for the yellow. 
 
 "China" Rose they called her because of her 
 queer slanting blue eyes and the tearose tint of 
 her skin. And as China Rose the report of her 
 beauty spread through Pell Street and the 
 Bowery. 
 
 "Honest," said young Bud O Connor to his 
 side kick, Spike McGovern, in warm apprecia 
 tion, "there s a yella dame walkin round 
 [172]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 here wit a face at d knock yuh cold. Reg lar 
 chicken an spunky as hell." 
 
 McGovern listened thoughtfully. Later he 
 more than listened. He went on a tour of in 
 spection. 
 
 There is no denying that with his glaring 
 pink shirt, his absurdly small waist above peg 
 top trousers, and his light topped shoes, Spike 
 McGovern was not bad to look upon. He had, 
 moreover, a deceptive cherubic innocence about 
 his smile. 
 
 " Hello, Kid!" he said admiringly to China 
 Rose at first sight of her. "I m wantin tuh 
 cop a lil peach just like you." 
 
 The slanting blue eyes of China Eose went 
 from the feet clad in effeminate patent leather 
 to the incongruous strength of the face shaded 
 by a plaid cap. "Beat it!" she ordered, deal 
 ing him a playful slap meant as encouragement. 
 
 "Game!" praised Spike McGovern de 
 lightedly. 
 
 Then, some months later, her heart in her 
 mouth, her intense blue eyes beseechingly upon 
 his unconcerned face, a softness about her be 
 fore which Mr. Flaherty would have stared 
 in amaze, China Rose made of Spike McGovern 
 an urgent request as they stood together in the 
 soft spring dusk of a city park square. 
 [173]
 
 "I I m soured on this place round here, 
 Spike," she stammered. "The noise, the dirt, 
 
 the fights, all the rottenness of it." 
 
 "Suits me," nonchalantly from Spike. 
 "Wot s eatin on yuh? Some Holy John been 
 naggin yuh about yer everlastin soul?" 
 
 "I I m wantin tuh cut all this an get away 
 somewheres," persisted China Rose, her face 
 working slightly in the darkness. "What say, 
 Spike, we marry an get away together?" 
 Breathlessly she waited. It was out, the thing 
 she had been nerving herself to say during all 
 these months she had been trying pitifully to 
 tighten her slipping hold on Spike. 
 
 Deliberately Mr. McGovern spat at an iron 
 stake nearby. "I ain t thinkin o marryin ," 
 he stated with extreme finality. 
 
 "But you me we " stammered China 
 Rose through a haze of tears. "We oughta get 
 married, Spike." 
 
 Spike narrowed his eyes viciously. "Talkin 
 church stuff, eh?" he sneered. "Well, what I 
 said goes: I ain t marryin just now. An 
 when I do " he paused provokingly. 
 
 "Yeh?" whispered China Rose eagerly, draw 
 ing closer. 
 
 "When I do . . ." finished Spike McGovern 
 cruelly. "I m drawin the color line."
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 " But you but?" 
 
 "Sweethearts an wives is diff runt," ex 
 plained Spike loftily. 
 
 "But I m white!" insisted China Eose pas 
 sionately. 
 
 "You?" His mocking laugh mounted 
 toward the slim sickle of spring moon high up in 
 the sky. "Don t try tuh come that stuff on 
 me, Eosie-girl. Where d yuh get those slantin 
 eyes? Don t the whole town know ye re yella, 
 China Eose?" 
 
 Then, patronizingly, "Ye re all right, Eose. 
 An I ain t as perticklar as some. Just so s 
 yuh don t spring no more o that marryin talk 
 we kin travel awhile together. But when yuh 
 talk marryin , then I gotta remember I m a Mc- 
 Govern, an the name s never been splashed 
 with just that kinda mud." 
 
 A pause which lengthened to awkwardness. 
 Mr. McGrovern grew faintly uneasy. "Yuh 
 don t hafta take it like that," he protested in- 
 juredly. "Be a sport, Eosie. I like yuh 
 sure I do ! " 
 
 But he was talking to empty air, China Eose 
 was retreating rapidly in all the dignity of 
 offended pride. Already her slight figure was 
 only a dim blur in the merciful darkness. And 
 as she went, her eyes were full of tears. 
 [175]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 It was a night she was to look back upon in 
 later years, the night she broke with Spike Mc- 
 Govern. Hour after hour she battled in the 
 darkness with the stubborn heart which called 
 for Spike, reminding her with torturing clear 
 ness of his infantile smile, of his smiling blue 
 eyes, of the warmth he could put at will into his 
 coaxing voice. But even in her torment she did 
 not reconsider her decision to put him out of 
 her life. She had loved Spike with all the fresh 
 young ardor which was hers, had looked upon 
 him as some radiant image of perfection, while 
 Spike had never loved her, had merely conde 
 scended to her as some new jewel to wear in 
 his young male egotism, despising her yellow 
 blood even as he condescended. All of this she 
 felt vaguely, lacking words for expression. 
 
 "I m through with Spike," she told the ami 
 ably interested Flaherty wanly at breakfast 
 next morning. 
 
 Observing the reddened eyes and swollen face 
 opposite, Mr. Flaherty was moved to offer 
 shrewd advice. 
 
 "Yuh begun fer yerself, Rosie," he reasoned 
 judicially. "I wouldn t a-pushed yuh into the 
 wrong road meself cause it ain t me way. An 
 anyhow, I knew yuh d hit it soon enough. But 
 now yuh started, yuh 11 be keepin on. Nacher- 
 [176]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 ally. Folks won t let yuh do diff runt down 
 
 here, yah bein mixed blood an all " He 
 
 held up an expostulating hand. "Don t be flar- 
 in up like that. I ain t tryin tuh insult yuh. 
 I m fond o yuh an I m handin yuh straight 
 goods. It s the truth. The best yuh can get 
 outa life is either some fat ole yella Chink or 
 someone fer awhile like McGovern. Straight 
 goods, Kosie, an yuh might as well face it . . ." 
 he paused, studying her white face compassion 
 ately. "An here s another little tip: The 
 world s mostly made of people wot give and 
 people wot get. And mostly women are the ones 
 wot give. But you, now, Rosie, if yuh gotta be 
 a giver, make the other side pay." 
 
 "I see ..." said China Rose sullenly, quiv 
 ering lip held firm beneath her white teeth. And 
 she did see. 
 
 Later on she astounded Mr. Flaherty by a 
 terse announcement of her forthcoming mar 
 riage to one Tsing Chung, newly come from 
 far-off Melbourne to visit his prosperous 
 brother in Pell Street. 
 
 "He s a Chink, but he wants tuh marry me," 
 she explained briefly. "An if a fat ole yella 
 Chink or wot I ve had s all I m goin ta get 
 outa life, I ve a mind ta try the Chink. He ll 
 take me away from here an an mebbe I ll 
 [177]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 getta new deal out there." She did not say it, 
 but her frantic desire to get away was at least 
 partly due to the occasional sight of Spike Mc- 
 Govern. 
 
 "Mebbe yuh will," agreed Mr. Flaherty 
 with unexpected sentiment. "I m hopin so, 
 Rosie. It ain t no easy road, the one yuh been 
 goin . An it don lead nowhere where the 
 scenery s pretty in the end!" 
 
 He gave her his blessing, a set of red fox furs, 
 and a bottle of gin for wedding presents. The 
 wedding itself was a large affair involving most 
 of Chinatown, with a feast at Ling Foo s Suey 
 Palace to wind up with, where Mr. O Flaherty 
 himself became gloriously drunk. 
 
 Tsing Chung, the elderly rotund bridegroom, 
 was more than content with his bride. From 
 the first moment she had dawned on his enrap 
 tured eyes her exotic beauty had delighted his 
 senses, blinding him to the remonstrances of 
 his Pell Street brother. 
 
 "Indeed is she beautiful," pointed out the 
 staid brother. "But better beside a hearth is 
 a heart of virtue than a beautiful face." 
 
 "Her beauty is like to that of a golden-haired 
 goddess of seventy times seven sins!" pro 
 claimed the infatuated Tsing Chung poetically. 
 Then, more practically, "I am not young, my 
 [178]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 brother, yet possibly will I obtain from the 
 strength and beauty of this golden-haired god 
 dess the son of my desire." 
 
 "When does a brain fevered with love listen 
 to words of wisdom?" sighed the brother 
 acquiescently. 
 
 "What beside the prattle of men children at 
 an old man s knee is the trifling matter of chas 
 tity?" demanded Tsing Chung in return. 
 
 He said as much to China Rose when she 
 made frank allusion to her past. 
 
 "I ain t been no shut-in doll, Ching-a-Ling, " 
 she said to him over a table in the rear of Mr. 
 Flaherty s poolroom, blue eyes slightly 
 weary. "Not knowin anythin about life cept- 
 in wot I heard. Not me! But I done as well s 
 I could, me bein wot I am. An as well as folks 
 would let me." 
 
 "Indeed so," agreed Tsing Chung, freely 
 admiring her square shoulders and delicate 
 waist. Undoubtedly the man child of such a 
 woman would be strong and splendid. t So that 
 you keep your sins henceforth to the bosom of 
 your family, what is past is dead and shall not 
 be revived." 
 
 "An ," said China Eose defiantly. "See 
 that foot " she thrust out a pretty foot sig 
 nificantly. "It ain t never been bound an it 
 [179]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 ain t never goin ta be. It s been free to walk 
 where it wanted, an it s goin ta keep on thata 
 ways." A pause. "I m white an I m free 
 see?" 
 
 "You are white and you are free," agreed 
 Tsing Chung cordially. And love barred any 
 hint of mockery from his slanting eyes. 
 
 He kept his promise, Tsing Chung the tailor. 
 In Melbourne China Eose was as free as in her 
 native Pell Street, scandalizing the staid Chi 
 nese by skimming the streets at all hours in 
 reckless pursuit of amusement, chaffing the 
 sailors from various boats, giving them as good 
 as they sent in her ready slang. 
 
 "Truly this wife you have brought from a 
 far-off land makes of her name a wall for all 
 men to throw mud against ! said Sun Yat the 
 Soothsayer maliciously to Tsing Chung in The 
 Gathering Place of the Most High, where he had 
 gone to spend a peaceful hour with his kind, 
 listening to bits of current gossip and quieting 
 his nerves with opalescent poppy smoke. 
 
 "If an eagle be caged, will it not droop and 
 die?" queried Tsing Chung placidly, inhaling 
 deeply. "And does not my golden-haired wife 
 come from a land claiming the eagle as an em 
 blem of the freedom of its people?" 
 [180]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Much harm will come of it," muttered Sun 
 Yat, unconvinced. 
 
 But Tsing Chung only smiled. He was happy, 
 remonstrance and criticism alike glancing from 
 his armor of happiness harmlessly. China Rose 
 had brought to his declining years a warm 
 breeze of happiness, with her free ways and her 
 banishing of dullness indulging his own long 
 stifled sense of romance. Out of sheer gratitude 
 he defied Chinese convention for her sake even 
 as China Eose defied dullness. 
 
 After the coming of the sturdy, blue-eyed, 
 yellow-skinned son, named Dennis in honor of 
 Mr. Flaherty, his gentleness and kindness re 
 doubled. China Rose had given to him a brief 
 season of youth in which to banish the heaviness 
 of his increasing years, and now the joy of joys, 
 a son to worship at his grave, a new link in the 
 family chain. 
 
 Rocking the baby in his strong arms, he would 
 listen placidly to China Rose s sharp complaints 
 against life in Melbourne as opposed to the 
 brightness of Pell Street. 
 
 "Gawdl" China Rose would weep. "I m 
 that dull I can t stand it." After which she 
 would burst into a storm of shrill invective 
 which broke harmlessly upon Tsing Chung s un 
 changing gentleness. 
 
 [181]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 But in the end she would be remorseful. 
 "Yuh oughta take a cane tuh me, Ole Socks," 
 she would apologize pathetically. " Honest, I 
 dunno wot makes such a HP beast outa me. 
 Seems like sumpin s drivin me all the time an* 
 I gotta act up. Ye re good tuh me, but I m just 
 rotten, that s all." 
 
 And Tsing Chung, listening, his son held close 
 in his protecting grasp, would reason shrewdly 
 that it was the yellow and white races warring 
 incessantly in her veins. 
 
 "I got one of them devil things yuh talk about 
 ridin me," Rose would finish dejectedly, in 
 tense blue eyes wistful and appealing. 
 
 Involuntarily Tsing Chung would shudder. 
 In company with his kind he nursed a whole 
 some awe of devils. 
 
 Then from America came the son of the Pell 
 Street brother, returning the visit of his uncle 
 as courtesy required. 
 
 Tsing Chung made him welcome, doubly so 
 in that the Harvard education and tailored 
 clothes of his nephew lent added face to himself 
 among his associates in The Gathering Place of 
 the Most High. But it must be admitted that 
 Tsing Fong was not popular. 
 
 "He seems ah, your honorable nephew to 
 [182]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 lack the courtesy and respect for age in which 
 a son of China is reared," protested Nat Hong 
 Ku the merchant, after listening interminably 
 to a glib exposition of the superiority of Ameri 
 can methods over those of any other nation. 
 
 "His eyes," said Sun Yat the Soothsayer 
 meditatively, "are set together like those of a 
 fox. Truly will he bear watching lest thy most 
 precious jewel be stolen." 
 
 A hush fell upon the gathering, a hush before 
 which Tsing Chung gathered his belongings and 
 betook himself away, considerably troubled in 
 his kindly heart. 
 
 And that, it seemed to him, was the beginning 
 of the great unhappiness which came to torment 
 him, driving out the old peace and content so 
 that even the beloved little Dennis was nothing 
 more than a dead weight in his anxious father s 
 arms. 
 
 They were so suited to each other, the sleek 
 Tsing Fong and China Rose. Even their early 
 associations had been much the same. The same 
 school, the same sights, the same childish 
 games . . . Perhaps, in those days of her asso 
 ciation with Spike McGovern, China Rose would 
 have scorned the sleek yellow Tsing Fong of 
 Pell Street. But now, in her loneliness and 
 dullness, she made him eagerly welcome, listen- 
 [183]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 ing hour after hour as he poured into her atten 
 tive ears tales of the old familiar streets. And, 
 watching her rapt face and seeing the shimmer 
 of white shoulders through flimsy silk, the too 
 close together eyes of Tsing Fong from Pell 
 Street would narrow thoughtfully. 
 
 Tsing Fong lingered on and China Eose be 
 came radiant. No more did the front room, with 
 its expensive lacquered furniture and gorgeous 
 rugs, its blooming lilies and gay strips of satin, 
 embroidered in sayings of the ancient philoso 
 pher before Confucius, echo with her weeping 
 complaints against the dullness of life. It 
 echoed, instead, to the music of her gay, caress 
 ing laugh. Yet, strangely enough, depression 
 had settled heavily upon Tsing Chung. After 
 awhile, quite a long while, he recognized the 
 meaning of the grayness which had closed in 
 upon him : it was jealousy. 
 
 Then it was that the criticism of the staid Chi 
 nese of Melbourne began to penetrate to his 
 heart, no longer guarded with the armor of hap 
 piness, together with wisps of suspicion floating 
 back from his knowledge of the sordid youth of 
 China Rose. 
 
 Yet even after he knew beyond doubt that her 
 heart was entwined around this sleek-haired 
 intruder with his Harvard accent and glib sure- 
 [184]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 ness of self, Tsing Chung defended China Eose 
 stoutly in his thoughts. 
 
 "They are both young," he reasoned sadly, 
 knowing how utterly his associates condemned 
 his weakness, "and I understand. I myself 
 am ah, regrettably no longer young. And love 
 is a madness which leaps in the night, claiming 
 its prey. Presently will this intruder return, 
 home and things become as before. And when 
 all is said, has not the China Eose brought into 
 my life all the warmth of her own beauty and 
 youth !" 
 
 "With this he steeled himself against the 
 silence which fell immediately he entered the 
 room where the two sat together; against the 
 joyous laugh w^hich floated down to him where 
 he sat cross-legged on his table at work ; against 
 the torment inflicted by China Eose when every 
 word she uttered shaped itself around Tsing 
 Fong from Pell Street. 
 
 "He s class!" she would say jubilantly to 
 Tsing Chung. "An smart as a steel trap. An 
 those swell clothes he wears . . . an the way he 
 talks!" 
 
 And Tsing Chung would agree with gentle 
 irony, praying daily to the bronze tablet which 
 represented his ancestors for relief from the 
 infliction of his nephew s presence. 
 [185]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Old stuff ! sniffed Tsing Fong one day, re 
 garding the bronze tablet contemptuously. 
 
 "New ways for youth, age does not change, 
 preferring to cling to customs tried and true," 
 defended Tsing Chung tolerantly. 
 
 "If yuh d come outa that habit of livin way 
 back a thousand years, yuh d find this a pretty 
 good IIP ole world, Ole Socks," rallied China 
 Rose good-naturedly. 
 
 "Honor, respect for age, courage to do right 
 ... all these are old things," rejoined Tsing 
 Chung. "Yet are they not what all men live 
 by?" 
 
 Involuntarily China Eose shrank back with 
 dropped eyes, even the suave Tsing Fong losing 
 a hint of his accustomed poise. 
 
 "He s such a nut!" exclaimed China Eose 
 hastily. "All these years a-savin an scrimpin 
 tuh go back tuh China. How s he know he ll 
 like it when he gets there ? 
 
 "China ..." began Tsing Chung. And 
 stopped. How make clear to young China the 
 reverence and adoration in his heart for China 
 with her broad rivers and temples? 
 
 In the silence which followed, Tsing Fong 
 
 narrowed his eyes in calculation. How much 
 
 money had his uncle collected in the years of 
 
 saving and scrimping? This emotional inter- 
 
 [186]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 hide with China Rose might be made profitable 
 if there were money enough . . . 
 
 Standing there, regarding the blonde beauty 
 of China Rose, it occurred to him that he could 
 sell that beauty in China for a round sum when 
 he wished to be rid of her. Perhaps, thought 
 Tsing Fong to himself, he and China Rose 
 would take that trip to China in place of the 
 foolish old man. Tunelessly he began to whistle, 
 an American habit detested by the quiet-loving 
 Tsing Chung. 
 
 "I ain t goin ta do it!" refused China Rose 
 hotly a few days later. "He s a good ole sport, 
 Ching-a-Ling is. All his life he s been wantin 
 tuh go back tuh China, an I ain t goin ta knife 
 him in the back. Gawd ain t it enough tuh 
 steal his wife thout takin his money too?" 
 
 "But, O Beloved of My Heart," soothed 
 Tsing Fong softly, "I am not wealthy and with 
 out money to go far from the vengeance of 
 Tsing Chung we will be killed." A pause. 
 "Would you have me go without you?" he 
 added craftily. 
 
 Before the brooding eyes of China Rose 
 flashed a picture of the dullness of the days be 
 fore the coming of Tsing Fong from Pell Street, 
 together with an acute realization of her need 
 [187]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 of a younger companionship than that of Tsing 
 Chung. * Not that ! she sighed unhappily. 
 
 Seeing her indecision, Tsing Fong renewed 
 his pleading. * This grubbing Tsing Chung will 
 have other years in which to get money, My 
 Plumblossom years in which we shall be to 
 gether. 
 
 "Together ..." breathed China Rose in 
 ecstasy, eyes in rapt adoration upon the slender 
 Tsing Fong. "Yuh love me, Honey-Lamb?" 
 
 "More than the rivers love the great sea 
 which draws them to its breast," lied Tsing 
 Fong. "More than the nightingale loves the 
 song of the male at mating time." 
 
 "Once ..." said China Eose with bitter 
 memory, "I said as how I d never trust a man 
 again. But it s a thing a woman never learns : 
 Not tuh trust a man wot says he loves her ! 
 
 So, on an afternoon not long afterward, 
 Tsing Chung climbed the steps from his day s 
 toil to find afternoon sunshine gilding the lilies 
 in the square pots on the windowsill and the 
 infant Dennis crying lustily into emptiness. 
 
 Lifting him in his ponderous arms, Tsing 
 Chung spoke to the indignant child. "We are 
 two men in a household where there is no 
 [188]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 woman, he said gravely. And then : * Where 
 no woman will ever be," he amended. 
 
 When Dennis, fed to repletion, fell asleep, 
 Tsing Chung inspected his rooms. In one lay 
 his cash box empty. In another he picked up 
 a crumpled announcement of a steamer sailing 
 for China, from the littered floor. In yet an 
 other he found the ancestral tablet splintered 
 by a contemptuous heel. 
 
 "This must be avenged," said Tsing Chung 
 aloud heavily. "Insult may perhaps be offered 
 to the living and remain unavenged. But never 
 among our race is insult to the dead left un 
 punished. 
 
 Later, sitting forlornly by the window with 
 the blooming lilies, looking out to where moon 
 light cast a veil of enchantment over the clutter 
 of the dingy street, he thought sadly of China 
 Hose, without rancor, without resentment, only 
 with sorrow. 
 
 "Always in this world must some be born 
 butterflies forever trying to fly in the sun of 
 happiness ; and some be born tortoises plodding 
 through the sands of reality; and some be born 
 thieving foxes," he said gently. "Yet will a 
 butterfly be a butterfly. And always must a 
 butterfly yearn for happiness. 
 [189]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 "With the youthful Dennis Tsing Chung began 
 shortly thereafter a journey which ranged from 
 Soochow with its canals to Pe-kin of the high 
 walls, from Canton with its fragrant camphor- 
 wood coffin shops to Hong Kong, where eastern 
 seas bubble up hot to the touch of a flaming 
 sun. Patiently he made inquiry regarding a 
 golden-haired woman with slanting eyes, know 
 ing these peculiarities would be marked and 
 remembered by the inquisitive Chinese. 
 
 And in Shanghai, many months later, w r hen 
 he had almost given up hope, he located China 
 Rose. 
 
 "The woman is ill and evil days have come 
 upon, her," said his informant, beady eyes 
 bright with curiosity. "But she lives near the 
 waterfront in the house of an old woman." 
 
 "The wings of the butterfly are broken," said 
 Tsing Chung to himself, after the man, his 
 curiosity unsatisfied, had gone. 
 
 He found China Rose huddled on the floor in 
 a heap of rags, her face flushed with fever, 
 golden hair untidy, blue eyes wide and bright. 
 
 "It s Ching-a-Ling ! " she said without fear, 
 recognizing him with a crazy laugh. 
 
 Then, plucking restlessly at her ragged dress, 
 "I m glad yuh come, Ole Socks. I done 
 yuh dirt, an* I d like a chanst tuh say I m 
 [190]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 sorry before they ring the bells on me. * 
 
 Tsing Chung approached, his heart wrung 
 with pity at the sight of her miserable condi 
 tion. And of a sudden her mouth twisted. 
 
 "That Tsing Fong . . ." she gasped agoniz 
 ingly. "He weren t no good. Sold me out tuh 
 a bloomin tea house made a tea house doll 
 outa me wot s always been free!" 
 
 "There, Little Butterfly," soothed Tsing 
 Chung gently, gazing at her drooped mouth and 
 tormented face. "I know." 
 
 "But I got away ..." she rushed on tri 
 umphantly. "Sumpin . . . sumpin I want tuh 
 tell yuh, Ching-a-Ling ! " she added incoher 
 ently. And lapsed into unintelligible delirium. 
 
 Why Tsing Chung, with every intention of 
 making China Rose expiate her sin, should care 
 fully nurse her back first to something like 
 health is a twist of Oriental reasoning incom 
 prehensible to Occidental mind. 
 
 Nothing could have been kinder or more gen 
 tle than the skill with which he nursed her, lift 
 ing her in great kind arms to rest her weari 
 ness, purchasing for her the comfort of an 
 American brass bed with white sheets. 
 
 "I don t see why yuh do it," pondered China 
 Rose one day, comfortable against her fresh 
 linens and soft pillows. 
 
 [191]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 A faint pink had come back to her hollow 
 cheeks, her eyes had something of the old 
 sparkle, the golden hair had been carefully ar 
 ranged by Tsing Chung. "Good ole Ole 
 Socks ! she finished feebly. 
 
 A pain of reminiscence, dagger sharp, thrust 
 deep into Tsing Chung s soft heart. 
 
 "Now that you are better, we will talk," he 
 said, settling himself beside her on the floor. 
 
 "Dennis?" inquired China Eose in a whisper. 
 "Where s he?" 
 
 "With an honorable kinsman," informed 
 Tsing Chung. 
 
 "I s pose I ain t fit tuh see him?" longingly. 
 
 "You are not fit," agreed Tsing Chung. 
 
 "I m sorry now fer wot I did," said China 
 Eose. "But it s too late now it always is too 
 late when yuh are sorry. 
 
 A long silence. Then, looking at the face with 
 its slanting blue eyes and golden hair he had so 
 loved, Tsing Chung spoke sorrowfully. "The 
 wrong you have done me could be forgiven, but 
 a stain rests upon the name of my honorable 
 ancestors. There is but one way " 
 
 A smile of faint amusement touched the pale 
 
 lips of China Eose. "Still livin a thousand 
 
 years back, Ching-a-Ling?" she murmured. 
 
 "Well, I m Chink enough tuh know wot yer 
 
 [192]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 mean, Ole Socks. An if my dyin s goin ta 
 give yuh any real satisfaction, I reckon I don t 
 mind. Mebbe in that next world they don t 
 draw the color line so almighty close!" In her 
 words throbbed the old, old hurt of the night 
 she had broken with Spike McGovern. 
 
 Shakily Tsing Chung prepared a drink of 
 rice wine in a goblet of beaten silver centuries 
 old, dropping into its depths a pill of uncooked 
 opium, after which he handed it to China Eose 
 with hands which trembled visibly. 
 
 Gotta have a lil more nerve tuh get away 
 with this sorta thing, Ole Socks," chided China 
 Rose affectionately, with a wisp of her old reck 
 less laugh as the wine slopped over onto her 
 thin hands. Then, looking down into the gob 
 let: "Ain t it like life, Ching-a-Ling?" she 
 sighed. "Pretty on top an bitter under 
 neath?" 
 
 Unhesitatingly she drained the goblet, hand 
 ing it back into his trembling hands with a 
 smile. "There, Ole Socks, goin ta fergive 
 Bosie fer bein a bad girl? I been punished. 
 That Tsing Fong he wuz a bad lot. It wuz 
 him busted yer tablet. I tole him tuh let it 
 alone, but he wuz that mean!" 
 
 Drowsily she let her head slip back against 
 the pillows. 
 
 193]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Not so bad, Ole Socks, this dyin business. 
 Mebbe I shoulda tried it sooner an saved a lotta 
 trouble for everybody!" 
 
 And then, looking down at the elfin wistful- 
 ness of her sleepy face, a cry of irrepressible 
 regret surged up from the very bottom of Tsing 
 Chung s heart. "If only you could have ap 
 peased the wrath of my ancestors!" he stam 
 mered. "If you had but punished this wicked 
 Tsing Fong I could have forgiven you!" 
 
 China Eose smiled the elfish smile with which 
 a child betrays knowledge of some secret prank. 
 "Then the joke s on you, Ole Socks," she mur 
 mured sleepily. "It s wot I wanted tuh tell yuh 
 before: That Tsing Fong ... I got him. Slid 
 a knife right in between his rotten ribs. So I 
 guess . . . the joke s on you, Ole Socks!" 
 
 And, looking downward at her face, like that 
 of a naughty sleeping child, realizing that for 
 him all the light and beauty and joy in life had 
 vanished forever, Tsing Chung, shrunken and 
 old, acknowledged she was right. 
 
 [ 194 ]
 
 "THE GOLD LACQUERED 
 BOX"
 
 THEY were twins, the brothers Sing, born 
 to the childless wife of a jade worker in 
 the Forbidden City at the season of the 
 Chinese New Year, when giant firecrackers of 
 rejoicing were bursting into crimson fragments 
 and street stalls were piled high with silver 
 strips of sugared cocoanut and candied citrous 
 fruit. 
 
 Upon the unrestrained joy of the jadeworker 
 and his wife, however, the priest who came to 
 shave the infants at the feast of the shaving of 
 the head laid a chastening admonition : 
 
 "Such great good fortune will undoubtedly 
 attract the attention of evil spirits," he an 
 nounced gravely to the jadeworker and his doll- 
 like wife in her gay brocade coat and trousers. 
 
 Thoughtfully he studied the two gold-colored 
 infants in their jackets of red, their trousers of 
 blue, and their shoes of purple. "One of these 
 infants will be inhabited by an evil spirit es 
 caped from hell, casting evil influence upon all 
 he beholds," he finished solemnly. 
 
 "But which?" breathed the frightened 
 parents. 
 
 [197]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Now that ..." hesitated the priest can- 
 nily, ". . . is something even my great wisdom 
 cannot determine." 
 
 Uneasily the jadeworker and his wife re 
 garded the two gold-colored infants, as alike as 
 two peas, while their guests prepared hastily 
 to depart. 
 
 Then the wife of the jadeworker, summoning 
 the guile of a mother, regained confidence. 
 "The father of my sons is a man of power," 
 she asserted. "Moreover does he possess a 
 gold lacquered box containing a porcelain fish. 
 Long years have the family of Sing held this 
 porcelain fish in the gold box. And in all these 
 years good spirits have guarded the family 
 from evil." 
 
 "A most potent charm," agreed the priest 
 dubiously. 
 
 "And," continued the jadeworker s wife, her 
 courage increasing, "to my sons as milk names 
 will I give the names of girls, fooling the evil 
 spirits into believing they are of no conse 
 quence. Moreover . . . will I pierce the right 
 ear of each and insert rings, causing even the 
 jealous gods to believe they are girls, and there 
 fore not desire them ! 
 
 "A wise precaution!" assured the priest ad 
 miringly. 
 
 [198]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 The twins thrived, but in later years their 
 marvelous resemblance diminished, minute 
 physical differences distinguishing each from 
 the other : Sing Lu was taller, thinner ; Sing Foo 
 shorter, sturdier. Other less apparent differ 
 ences, striking deeper, also served to separate 
 them into individuality. 
 
 From Sing Foo, the younger by a matter of 
 minutes, the dogs of the street fled in a shriek 
 ing crescendo of horror when he appeared on 
 his sturdy little yellow legs, his hair gathered 
 into a topknot above his gleaming eyes. Chil 
 dren playing peaceably scattered as leaves be 
 fore a wind at his warlike approach. 
 
 From the gentle hands of Sing Lu, the elder, 
 even the goldfish and turtles of the temple pools 
 fed fearlessly, all manner of living things divin 
 ing in him a friendly sympathy. 
 
 As they reached manhood the differences in 
 the two widened into a breach, cleaving them in 
 twain. Sing Lu leaned to the life of a student, 
 finding pleasure in the beautiful words of Li Po 
 and Po Chui-i, poets of the Chinese golden age, 
 in the sayings of the gentle Gautama Buddha, 
 and in drawing melody from bamboo flute or 
 san sheu. For Sing Foo, the younger, only 
 the vices of his country held attraction: the 
 hot sting of Chinese rice whiskey flavored 
 [199]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 with powdered ginger, the drugged leth 
 argy of poppy fumes, the swift thrill of gam 
 bling tables edged with crowding, intent yellow 
 faces. 
 
 "Truly, * said the jadeworker to his elder 
 son, "are you the light of my days while your 
 brother is the thorn in my flesh!" 
 
 "He is young, Respected Father," would 
 defend Sing Lu gently. "Perhaps in later 
 years he will achieve wisdom and we can form 
 of him a man of standing. 
 
 Dejectedly the jadeworker would shrug elo 
 quent shoulders. "Can rotten wood be 
 carved?" he would demand. "And does wis 
 dom come where the room for it is not swept 
 and garnished and made ready 1 ? AM . . . the 
 priest spoke truly at the shaving feast: Your 
 body is the dwelling place of good spirits, and 
 that of your brother of a spirit from hell!" 
 
 Owing, according to the jadeworker s bitter 
 insistence, to the evil influence of his younger 
 son, his business dwindled and fell away. 
 
 A day came when the father, summoning his 
 two sons into Ms presence, laid upon them his 
 commands : 
 
 "The business which is mine no longer pro 
 vides rice for four mouths," he informed them. 
 "Wherefore it is advisable your daily rice be 
 [200]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 earned elsewhere. Leng Hi, now returned from 
 a far-off land, has told me tales of the wealth a 
 prudent man may garner there. To each of 
 you, therefore, will I give four pieces of gold 
 and a sharp knife of bright steel. And to Sing 
 Lu, who is the elder and my beloved son, will I 
 give the gold lacquered box with the porcelain 
 fish this that your fortunes may prosper. 
 And of your good fortune a share is to be re 
 turned to me, your father, according to the duty 
 of a good son." 
 
 "It shall be done," agreed Sing Lu, receiving 
 into his hands reverently the gold box. 
 
 "For the gold-lacquered box and the porce 
 lain fish I will give to you my four pieces of 
 gold!" offered Sing Foo greedily. 
 
 "I am the elder, to me belongs the box," re 
 fused Sing Lu. 
 
 Fires of hate kindled in the smooth yellow 
 face of Sing Foo, and the father, watching, 
 sighed sorrowfully. 
 
 "Always upon what his evil eyes behold falls 
 the influence of evil ! " he complained. 
 
 Wherefore, after the departure of the two, he 
 took pains to cleanse his home of the presence 
 of evil spirits by an exploding of some two 
 dozen packs of firecrackers and an offering of 
 paper money at the temple. 
 201]
 
 THE STREET OF A. 
 
 In Melbourne, in The Street of a Thousand 
 Delights, Sing Lu labored faithfully, hoarding 
 his four pieces of gold and guarding the gold- 
 lacquered box, while Sing Foo squandered his 
 gold in the establishment of Wong Ting Fu, 
 with its ebony bunks and tasseled pipes and in 
 that house behind the balconies of which 
 gleamed pearl-white faces. 
 
 To the remonstrating Sing Lu he made sneer 
 ing reply: "Life is short, Respected Elder 
 Brother, and the blood of youth runs hotly but 
 once. Who can tell of the next life or the last? 
 To me there is no yesterday, since that is past ; 
 nor any to-morrow, since that may never come ; 
 there is only to-day. 
 
 " Never will you repay the four pieces of gold 
 to our father with such talk!" protested 
 Sing Lu. 
 
 "But you, Hard- Working One, will repay 
 it four times four," retorted Sing Foo impu 
 dently. "For have you not the porcelain fish 
 to assure your fortune? Give to me the porce 
 lain fish and I will work ! 
 
 "Not so!" refused Sing Lu. "Who knows 
 but you would exchange it for poppy smoke?" 
 
 From the lowliness of pushing a barrow with 
 its freight of wilted vegetables, Sing Lu rose in 
 due time to the dignity of a tiny shop, bringing 
 [202]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 with him from his barrow days but one thing 
 of value : his friendship with Gwenny, daughter 
 of an English adventurer drifting in from the 
 bush to die. 
 
 They met first on a day when Sing Lu, leav 
 ing his barrow in the sun while he delivered 
 vegetables to a thrifty housewife, was moved 
 by sudden shouts into returning hastily to sal 
 vage his wares from a band of marauding boys. 
 And then, trying with both hands to protect his 
 stock and likewise his shins from sly kicks and 
 scrapes, he became aware of an avenging whirl 
 wind in the shape of a striking, kicking girl of 
 fourteen in a torn dress. 
 
 Presently they stood alone, the tall China 
 man, his dignity unruffled, and the flushed, pant 
 ing Gwenny, one sleeve torn away from a milk- 
 white shoulder, her ruddy hair streaming down 
 to either side of her pink and white face, one 
 lip slightly cut and a thin trickle of blood oozing 
 down. 
 
 "It weren t fair!" exclaimed Gwenny pas 
 sionately to Sing Lu. "So many o them an* 
 you just one! And yer didn t do no thin ter 
 them." 
 
 And, looking down at Gwenny with her pas 
 sionate resentment of injustice, admiration 
 stirred and woke in Sing Lu. "You might have 
 [203]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 been hurt," lie said in the careful English he 
 had cultivated. Why should you risk so much 
 for a yellow man?" 
 
 "It weren t fair!" repeated Gwenny hotly. 
 "Yer hadn t done nothin !" 
 
 Gravely Sing Lu selected a banana from his 
 cart. "Will you take it?" 
 
 "Won t I just!" Ravenously she fell upon 
 it, extending something in the way of apology 
 for her rapacity. "Sometimes we eats in our 
 family, an 7 sometimes we don t," she explained 
 with dry humor. "An just now we don t ! The 
 guv nor he don t care much, he s a drinker, 
 an men wot drinks don t eat overmuch. But 
 me now I got an appetite. 
 
 "Every day," promised Sing Lu, "will I 
 bring to you a gift of food. 
 
 "Ye re all right, Chinky!" cried Gwenny 
 joyously. "I ll be here." 
 
 During the years Sing Lu patiently pushed 
 his barrow, he liked to feel, watching the steady 
 growth of the girl, that he had helped minister 
 to that growth. And since, in every being pos 
 sessed of the creative impulse, exists in exact 
 proportion a need of creation demanding outlet, 
 as the months slipped by Gwenny became in no 
 small measure the creation of the lonely Sing 
 [204]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Lu, her plastic soul taking on his own love of 
 beauty, something of his gentleness, his wor 
 shiping admiration of purity, honor, and fair 
 play. Not even Sing Lu, thrilling with the 
 pride of achievement as Gwenny expanded into 
 beauty both spiritual and physical, realized 
 how much of his own soul had gone into her 
 development. 
 
 "Two things worth while there are in this 
 wicked world ..." Sing Lu would say in his 
 gentle sing-song voice to the raptly listening 
 Gwenny ". . . beauty and love!" One kind 
 hand would stroke Gwenny s untidy curls. 
 "Yet beauty even such as yours, Little 
 Flowering Tree must be unspotted with evil 
 to bloom into perfection. For always evil de 
 stroys the thing it has marked as surely as 
 locusts destroy a harvest." 
 
 "Ye re a rum one!" Gwenny would retort, 
 his words finding an echo in her own breast. 
 "But somehow I likes ter listen ter yer, Sing." 
 
 Only once did Sing Lu see the father, a 
 bloated, shifty-eyed, untidy man in no wise re 
 sembling Gwenny with her bright fearlessness. 
 
 "He says as how he s me dad," confided 
 Gwenny, trudging alongside of Sing Lu to the 
 amusement of beholders. "But I m takin his 
 [205]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 words with a pinch o salt. I don t somehow 
 feel we re related. An I d not be feelin that 
 way if he was. 
 
 But Sing Lu, remembering the perpetual en 
 mity between himself and Sing Foo, his twin, 
 was not so sure. 
 
 " There is, sometimes, Little Plumblossom, " 
 he explained softly, "a kinship between 
 strangers, between even people of a different 
 race. And then, sometimes between those of 
 the same blood a distance which cannot be 
 traversed. 
 
 A pause while Gwenny dug for the meaning 
 of his words. "It s true!" she agreed ex 
 citedly. "There s you an me ter prove it, 
 Chinky. I m happy when I m with you, Sing, 
 even if ye re yellow an all. But when I m with 
 
 him " she shivered distastefully. "I wants 
 
 ter get away. I feels just like a rat caught in 
 a bloomin cage turnin round an round ..." 
 
 "He is ah unkind to you?" inquired Sing 
 Lu gently. 
 
 For answer Gwenny turned up her ragged 
 sleeve, exposing a circle of violet fingerprints 
 against the milky whiteness of her slender arm. 
 
 "He pinches, tryin ter make me holler. An 
 he hates it because I won t!" she explained suc 
 cinctly. "He used ter beat me pokers, sticks, 
 [206]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 anything he could grab. But now " she 
 
 threw back her head, squaring her shoulders 
 proudly. "He s afraid, wot with his goin 
 downhill so fast, he ain t strong enough. He 
 just comes sneakin up back o me an pinches, 
 sudden-like ..." Flame showed in her superb 
 tawny eyes. 
 
 Sing Lu said nothing, but with the queer in 
 tuition existing between them, she divined his 
 sympathy. 
 
 "Never mind," consoled Gwenny. "He 
 won t last long now. An it ain t so bad any 
 more. Up in the bush where we didn t see any 
 one often, it was fair bad ..." she gave a 
 shrug of repulsion. "But now he don t darst 
 touch me often." A pause. "One thing, 
 though, it s put me off men forever, knowin 
 wot a beast he is. There ain t goin ter be no 
 man in my life not after him!" 
 
 "There is love ..." objected Sing Lu 
 quietly. 
 
 "Love!" Gwenny gave a scoffing laugh. 
 "S pose my mother thought as how she loved 
 him else why would she be wantin ter be with 
 him? An look wot she got outer it: kicks an* 
 curses an blows an hard work every day o* 
 her life. That s wot love means f er a woman ! 
 
 "Yet for you there will some day be love," 
 [207]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 persisted Sing Lu, looking down at Gwenny 
 with her strong shoulders and white arms, her 
 length of limb and her firm young breast. 
 "For every one, perhaps not, but for you . . . 
 yes ! 
 
 "I hates men all exceptin* you," insisted 
 Gwenny doggedly. 
 
 "Yet there will be one you will not hate," 
 said Sing Lu with something of sadness. * * See, 
 Little Wild Bird, it is the nature of a tree to 
 bud, of a flower to bloom, and of a woman to 
 love . . . for that is life." 
 
 "Ain t yer a queer one!" exclaimed Gwenny 
 derisively. "Yer talk like a bloomin book. 
 Wot does yer know about love yerself, Sing?" 
 
 For just a second a smile, half bitter, half 
 sweet, twisted the thin lips of Sing Lu as to him 
 came brief remembrance of a haunting face 
 showing from a sedan chair decked in Imperial 
 yellow, then further remembrance of a high 
 wall scaled by agile limbs and of the flushed 
 face and trembling hands of a princess of the 
 blood imperial. But since, after all, the son of 
 a jadeworker has nothing in common with a 
 wearer of imperial yellow save perhaps the 
 sudden flowering of mutual passion, the mem 
 ory of golden moments spent together, and the 
 [208]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 sharing of the pain of parting, Sing Lu put 
 remembrance definitely away from him. 
 
 "One man learns by lack, another by posses 
 sion, yet in every heart is a knowledge of love," 
 he returned evasively. 
 
 "Ye re a queer one!" speculated Gwenny. 
 "But I likes yer anyhow, Sing." 
 
 The liking continued. "When Sing Lu aban 
 doned his barrow and started up his tiny 
 shop, Gwenny would descend upon him at all 
 hours. 
 
 "How s business, Sing?" she would inquire 
 gayly. And then, hungrily: "Wot yer got fer 
 me to-day, Ole Teller Sweetness?" 
 
 "Sweets from far-off countries." Sing Lu 
 would smile, holding out some trifle, his heart 
 beating in tune to the music of the voice which 
 had come to mean so much to him. 
 
 And Gwenny, utterly disregarding the slink 
 ing Sing Poo, would perch on the side of a 
 barrel, entering into gay, rallying conversation 
 with Sing Lu, shrugging aside the sly glances 
 of Sing Foo fastened upon her slim white throat 
 and the brightness of her hair. 
 
 "I can t stand that there brother o* yours, 
 Sing," she complained frankly. "He fair 
 makes me shiver like I d touched a toad or 
 [209]
 
 THE STREET OF A. 
 
 somethin ! Queer, ain t it, me thinkin so much 
 o you, an Mm bein yer brother?" 
 
 Perhaps not entirely queer ! retorted Sing 
 Lu thoughtfully. 
 
 "Keep your evil eyes away from this flower 
 I have tended so carefully," he commanded 
 sternly of Sing Foo when they were alone. 
 "Else will I turn you into the street to beg for 
 your daily rice." 
 
 Sullenly Sing Foo obeyed, but in his evil 
 fancy the image of Gwenny persisted, not to be 
 banished by Sing Lu s threat. 
 
 And then, with Gwenny growing into in 
 creased beauty and his little business prosper 
 ing mightily, came for Sing Lu the beginning 
 of evil days, bringing a dimness to his narrow 
 almond-shaped eyes and peopling his world 
 with ever darkening gray shadows. 
 
 With his keen Mongolian brain Sing Lu, 
 struggling with the gray shadows, realized fully 
 what this would mean to him. Soon very 
 soon the rapidly prospering business would 
 slip through his fumbling fingers into the 
 greedy grasp of Sing Foo. That was inescapa 
 ble. For the strong were the good things of 
 the world intended ; for the weak only the drip 
 pings from the full pot of the mighty. Pres 
 ently for him would be only a grudging corner 
 [210]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 in Ms own shop, the charity of a casually thrown 
 word, for his active brain the golden beads of 
 thought he had garnered in his years of study, 
 for his darkened eyes only the pictures remain 
 ing of that colorful life in the Forbidden City. 
 
 Day after day he strove to fix pictures upon 
 his mind with every detail of glowing color: 
 The great gate to the Forbidden City itself ; the 
 garden of the Imperial palace ; a patch of clear 
 turquoise blue sky among a rift of mounting 
 clouds; a painted houseboat floating down a 
 river at peachblossom time; the slim sickle of 
 a moon shining through papery leaves of bam 
 boo . . . jealously Sing Lu caught at every 
 fragment of beauty which had made itself felt 
 in his life. This much he would have no more. 
 
 "Two things there are in life which are 
 worth while . . ." he repeated again and again 
 as the dragging days went by and Sing Foo s 
 sharp eyes penetrated his effort to disguise his 
 failing sight ". . . beauty and love." A 
 pause. "The one I shall keep . . . but the 
 other " he sighed, turning the key to re 
 membrance upon his past. "Of what use is 
 love to a blind man?" he finished philosophi 
 cally. 
 
 Gwenny s distress when she learned of his 
 misfortune was pitiful. 
 
 [211]
 
 THE STREET OF A. 
 
 "It ain t fair!" she insisted, in the very 
 words of their first encounter. "What d yer 
 ever do ter have this come upon yer? If it d 
 been that there Sing Foo now, it d be differ 
 ent but you! What d yer ever do, Ole Teller 
 Sweetness ? 
 
 "Eyes which cannot see outwardly, see in 
 wardly, O Tender Little Heart," consoled Sing 
 Lu. * Many things are clear to me which were 
 not clear before. Always for everything taken 
 away is something given in return." 
 
 "Ye re a rum one!" cried Gwenny in a voice 
 choked with tears. "But I ll be standin by 
 yer, Sing. An if that ugly Sing Foo gets too 
 much fer yer, I ll take yer in. Now that the 
 guv nor s gone Gawd rest him there ain t no 
 one but just me." 
 
 "0 Tender Little Heart!" said Sing Lu 
 again, and in his own voice was a surging of 
 emotion. 
 
 "Ain t I wot yer made me?" demanded 
 
 Gwenny unsteadily. "Look " she directed 
 
 his straining eyes to a passing figure with run 
 down heels and draggled plumes. "Exceptin 
 fer you, there goes me! Where was I ter learn 
 all wot yer taught me about bein decent an all? 
 Yer kept me from starvin an- worse many a 
 time, Sing." 
 
 [212]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Your eyes," returned Sing Lu gently, 
 "were upon the gutter which is filled with filth, 
 and I have lifted them to the sky, which is filled 
 with beauty." A pause. "According to the 
 Lord Buddha, it is the duty of each soul to 
 assist in the growth of another," he finished. 
 
 Accurately he had forecast his future. With 
 his growing blindness Sing Foo gathered the 
 business into his own avaricious hands, nor did 
 Sing Lu outwardly resent it. The strong pro 
 gressed, the weak endured, according to their 
 capacity, he told his sore heart. It was life, 
 therefore it must be just. 
 
 Days followed in which Sing Lu, solitary and 
 apart, except for the kindness of Gwenny, 
 strove for a philosophy to blunt the edge of his 
 loneliness. 
 
 "There is no Sing Foo; there is no blindness; 
 there is only my individual self with its mem 
 ories. All else is nothing; only what is past is 
 real," he would murmur again and again to 
 himself. 
 
 In the Gathering Place of the Most High, 
 where he went occasionally, drawing deep into 
 his lungs acrid smoke provided by the gener 
 osity of the worthy Nat Hong Ku, his blindness 
 was a subject for jest and reproach, for the 
 Chinese are notoriously lacking in sympathy. 
 [213]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 "Of what use is the lotus pipe to a blind 
 man?" would jeer fat Ah Ling, the importer. 
 
 "Not so, Pudding on Legs," would retort 
 Sing Lu. "The lotus pipe sets free the eyes 
 of my spirit, and I see ..." 
 
 He was fairly launched into a marvelous tale, 
 speaking rapidly in a high sing-song voice, set 
 ting forth a colorful romance of the vanished 
 land, making clear a picture to dull brains. 
 
 "You are a poet !" would extol Nat Hong Ku 
 admiringly. 
 
 "I am but a paper tiger, a man without eyes, 
 a lion without teeth," Sing Lu would demur 
 placidly. 
 
 And, hearing, jealousy would seethe in the 
 narrow soul of Sing Foo, his twin. 
 
 * One thing has this paper tiger which I still 
 covet!" he would murmur to himself, thinking 
 of the gold-lacquered box. Then, his thoughts 
 going to the pink and white and gold beauty of 
 Gwenny: "And perhaps another!" he would 
 finish, a smile of malice uncovering his yellow 
 teeth. "Yet to the patient are all things pos 
 sible!" 
 
 Wherefore to Sing Lu he said bluntly: 
 * Since light has been denied your eyes the daily 
 rice you consume is wasted. If you want some 
 thing sharp, here is a knife; if you want some- 
 [214]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 tiling soft, then here is a rope, new and strong. 
 And when you are most satisfactorily dead, 
 then will I send you back to our father in a 
 coffin ornamented with crimson dragons, to be 
 buried by him in a pleasant place most agree 
 able to your spirit. 
 
 "You are, O Younger Brother, in all things 
 to your interest most considerate," refused 
 Sing Lu with gentle irony. 
 
 His very gentleness inflamed Sing Foo to 
 further malicious speech. 
 
 "These many times have you rebuked me for 
 my conduct, O Respected Elder Brother," he 
 continued, grinning with rage. "Quoting to me 
 from the weak sayings of Gautama Buddha, 
 and warning me of great misfortune to come 
 of my wicked ways. Yet to me has come pros 
 perity, which is the seal of a successful life, 
 and to you, believer in gentleness, in truth, and 
 in mercy, has the great misfortune come ! 
 
 "The power of the Lord Buddha is great," 
 disputed Sing Lu, lifting his sightless eyes up 
 ward. "In his own time, in his own way, he 
 will speak forth." 
 
 And something in his air of quiet certainty 
 checked the speech on Sing Foo s evil lips. 
 
 Gradually the obsession of Sing Foo for the 
 [215]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 gold-lacquered box and Gwenny s young sweet 
 ness deepened into an intensity haunting his 
 dreams, and into the murky depths of his eyes, 
 watching the thin sleeves clinging to Gwenny s 
 lovely arms and shoulders, came a dancing 
 flame. 
 
 "You plitty gurl!" he cooed once ingratiat 
 ingly in the pidgin English he affected, when 
 she stopped in, demanding Sing Lu, only to find 
 him out on one of his aimless excursions. 
 
 "Velly plitty gurl! Plitty gurl like you glet 
 plitty, plitty things . . . " he continued, expres 
 sionless eyes tracing the curve of white throat 
 to where it was enveloped in concealing cloth. 
 
 "Swell chance!" retorted Gwenny indiffer 
 ently. "An I m perticklar where I get pretty 
 things from see?" 
 
 Sing Foo ventured the familiarity of a puffy 
 yellow hand laid upon Gwenny s round white 
 arm. "You velly plitty gurl," he persisted in 
 his soft guttural voice, unwinking eyes upon 
 her flushed face. 
 
 "Cut it!" ordered Gwenny belligerently. 
 "An* wot s more, yer can cut out the sticky 
 looks yer keeps givin* me. I ain t got no use 
 fer them." 
 
 "You mally with me?" suggested Sing Foo 
 surprisingly. 
 
 [216]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Me marry with, you?" Gwenny threw back 
 her head, exposing the soft white of her throat, 
 laughing so that the scarlet roof of her mouth 
 and sound white teeth gleamed at the watching 
 Sing Foo. "Me take up with a fat, ole yeller 
 Chink? Ye re crazy, Sing Poo, clean crazy!" 
 
 With a final shrug of contempt, she switched 
 away in her superb young strength, stopping in 
 the doorway for a last shot at Sing Foo. 
 "Blamed if I c n swallow as ye re really a 
 brother o Sing Lu!" she called back angrily. 
 "Yer great, fat, lazy, cheatin Chink!" 
 
 1 < To-day you laugh, Little White Moth!" 
 snarled Sing Foo behind her in Chinese, spit 
 ting his words through clenched yellow teeth. 
 And yet who knows ? Perhaps some day the 
 Little White Moth will flutter too near a flame 
 and to Sing Foo will be given a chance to laugh. 
 And on that day Sing Foo will laugh long and 
 loudly. But you, Little White Moth, on that 
 day you will not laugh!" 
 
 And then for Sing Lu came that hour which 
 comes to spiritual and actual fathers alike, in 
 which the forming of new ties overshadows the 
 old completely. 
 
 As he had prophesied, Gwenny fell in love. 
 
 " Yer said it yerself, Sing," she acknowledged 
 [217]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 humbly, sitting down beside him, bright head 
 resting on his thin knee. "It s the way o life 
 fer trees ter bud; fer flowers ter bloom; an 
 fer a woman ter love! Yer said it all." 
 
 Stoically Sing Lu smoothed her bright curls. 
 "Yes!" 
 
 And Gwenny told her story told it with the 
 humility of one passing through a totally new 
 and upsetting experience. 
 
 "I didn t think as how I d ever be carin 
 about a man me knowin wot it means fer a 
 woman," she said tearfully. "But when it 
 comes, it comes. There was I, walkin down 
 the water road, an , comin from the other way, 
 this sailor chap. An he stops short when he 
 comes alongside o me, an I stopped with my 
 silly heart feelin like a lot o little birds had 
 sorter burst inter song. An fer a time we 
 stood an looked, each at the other, an I didn t 
 know him an he didn t know me, an yet, some 
 how, it was as if we d known each other always, 
 an been waitin fer just this thing ter happen. 
 An he speaks up an says ter me, bold-like an* 
 still not impudent: I ll be walkin along o* 
 you, Sweetness! 
 
 "An I looks up inter his eyes an wot I saw 
 there I don t know, but in that minute I wants 
 ter walk along o him worse than I ever wanted 
 [218]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 anythin before. So I gives a silly, happy-like 
 laugh, an we walks off together with the sky 
 bluer an the grass greener, an the sun 
 brighter than ever before. An that was the 
 beginnin o it . . ." 
 
 "That ..." agreed Sing Lu absently 
 ". . . is the beginning of love, Little Flower. 
 Between man and woman in the first meeting 
 exists either indifference or that attraction 
 which is the beginning of love." There was 
 in his tone something of the mellowness of an 
 ancient temple bell overlaid with the bronzed 
 patina of ages, subtly blended with the poignant 
 ache of relinquishment. * * And now you will no 
 longer need Sing Lu," he finished dully. 
 
 Always he had known that some day he would 
 be superseded in Gwenny s heart, yet knowl 
 edge that the time had come was hard to bear. 
 He had so little in that world of shadows which 
 surrounded him. If perhaps he had made use 
 of his influence with her, had traded upon 
 her gratitude . . . Abruptly he checked the 
 thought. What had a yellow man to do with 
 this child of the sun? 
 
 "Need yer?" repeated the puzzled Gwenny. 
 "But o course I ll be needin yer just the same, 
 Sing. Wotever made yer think I wouldn t?" 
 
 Sing Lu smiled wisely. "From now on the 
 [219]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 pleasure of guiding your footsteps will belong 
 to this man of your heart, he said, hating him 
 self for the stab of jealousy which shot through 
 him. 
 
 "But there s room in plenty in my heart fer 
 both o yer!" protested Gwenny in hurt sur 
 prise. 
 
 After she had gone, for just one moment of 
 weakness Sing Lu dropped his face into his 
 thin yellow hands. * It is hard ! " he said aloud. 
 
 From the rear of the store the spying Sing 
 Foo jeered at him. "Only to a man of strength 
 is given his desire, My Brother!" 
 
 "Be silent!" commanded Sing Lu. "It is 
 not given to you to understand, Son of Evil, 
 that love to which only the pure in heart can 
 attain. 
 
 And when, some few days later, Gwenny flut 
 tered into the store all aglow with happiness, 
 he had his jealousy well under control. 
 
 "See!" she said breathlessly to Sing Lu. 
 "Feel my ring, Sing Lu? I m married; mar 
 ried by a rector in a frock an all. He wanted 
 it that way ..." A pause, her fingers twist 
 ing in mute agony of separation. "An now 
 he s gone away; his ship sailed ter-day. 0* 
 course he ll be comin back, Sing, but I can t 
 believe as how it ll ever be just the same again. 
 [220]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Nothing like that could last, cause if it did, 
 this d be heaven, not earth. No ..." he ll be 
 comin back an maybe a time 11 come when it ll 
 be fer us just as it is fer all the others the 
 quarrelin an the ugliness. But that won t stop 
 me from carin . I couldn t stop if I wanted 
 to !" Her voice melted into wistfulness. Four 
 months ter wait afore he comes back, an four 
 months is a cruel long time, Sing." 
 
 " Yes," agreed Sing Lu quietly, sightless eyes 
 turned straight before him. "Four months can 
 be a very long time, Little Flower." 
 
 In the months which followed he was the old 
 Sing Lu, kind, thoughtful, filled with gentle 
 sympathy and understanding, listening gravely 
 to the flood of joyous confidence Gwenny 
 poured upon him. Every sentence she began 
 turned in the direction of her man before she 
 had finished it. Endlessly she talked of him, 
 and endlessly Sing Lu listened. 
 
 He was on the landing pier with Gwenny, at 
 Gwenny s urgent request, the day the Mary B 
 landed four months later. 
 
 "I wants you two ter know each other," she 
 explained wistfully. "Bern* as how yer both 
 mean so much ter me." 
 
 And Sing Lu, wondering if the charity and 
 [221]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 understanding of the other man would cover 
 the difference in color and caste, had consented. 
 
 "I don t see him," complained Gwenny, her 
 soft hair blowing in the breeze, her cheeks pink 
 with excitement. " Seems as how he oughter 
 be at the rail wavin ter me." 
 
 Then, with a swift pang of foreboding, 
 "Maybe something happened!" 
 
 1 i Has not love wings with which to shield the 
 beloved?" comforted Sing. 
 
 "Look " cried Gwenny, unheeding. 
 
 "They re a-helpin some one up ter the rail. 
 Why, it s Mm!" She gripped Sing Lu with 
 agonized fingers. "Wotever did they do ter 
 him he s white as paper, with his eyes sunk 
 way back in his head. Here I am, Darlin " 
 waving frantically, choking back the sob tight 
 ening her throat. "Waitin fer yer just as I 
 said I d be. Here I am ! Her voice died away 
 in a whisper of dread. "Sing he s sick. 
 They re a-helpin him down the gangplank. 
 He looks why, he looks like he s a-dyin !" 
 
 With a rush she was gone, and not until hours 
 later did she remember that she had left Sing 
 Lu alone to find his way back through the per 
 petual darkness surrounding him. Then she 
 hurried to him on penitent feet. 
 
 "Sing!" she cried remorsefully, finding him 
 [222]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 sitting patiently behind piles of golden oranges 
 and yellow bananas. "I don t know how I ever 
 left yer exceptin I was so upset seem him so 
 white an all . . ." 
 
 "Where the heart calls, the feet must re 
 spond, agreed Sing Lu. Then : * He is ill ? " 
 he inquired with gentle sympathy. 
 
 A silence. 
 
 Sing Lu repeated his question. "He is ill I" 
 
 And then the news came out in a gasping 
 flood of anguish. "He s goin ter die!" cried 
 Gwenny despairingly. "He s had fever an his 
 lungs are all wrong. A pause. * I had a doc 
 tor, one wot costs a guinea a visit, an he says 
 as how if I don t get him where it s always 
 warm an dry he won t pull through my 
 Dick!" Tears streaked her rounded cheeks, 
 her voice quivered. "Does seem like with so 
 many men in this old world, it needn t a-been 
 him, don tit, Sing?" 
 
 "But he has a chance," encouraged Sing Lu. 
 
 "Not him!" denied Gwenny. "We ve no 
 money an it takes money fer two people ter go 
 where it s warm an balmy an spend a year 
 doin nothin ." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Sing Lu poignantly. One 
 short year before he could have solved 
 Gwenny s problem. But now . . . 
 [223]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Gwenny sensed his worry. " Don t go brood- 
 in over it, Ole Yeller Sweetness," she reas 
 sured gallantly. "It fair struck me in a heap, 
 happenin so sudden-like. But I ll find some 
 way only it s got ter be some way I can get 
 it in a hurry." 
 
 In his own mind Sing Lu was considering the 
 problem. "All I have left is the gold lacquered 
 box," he reflected. "Yet even that, if it would 
 suffice, I would sacrifice." 
 
 Eising carefully, he patted Gwenny on one 
 square shoulder. "Perhaps to a blind man will 
 be granted the privilege of doing an act of 
 mercy. 
 
 "Don t worrit yerself," bade Gwenny affec 
 tionately. 
 
 But she sat on in the little shop pleasantly 
 filled with the fragrance of ripe fruit, and pres 
 ently Sing Poo came from the rear of the store, 
 sly eyes straying to where Gwenny sat deep in 
 thought. 
 
 "You like see something plitty?" he called. 
 
 "It s you!" greeted Gwenny without enthu 
 siasm. 
 
 "You like see something plitty?" repeated 
 Sing Foo stubbornly. 
 
 Indifferently Gwenny leaned against the 
 counter. "Wot bloomin nonsense is it now?" 
 [224]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Sing Foo held out a circlet of gold gleaming 
 with light. 
 
 "Gold an diamonds!" gasped Gwenny in 
 awe, a veritable hunger in her tone. * Where d 
 yer get it, Sing Foo?" 
 
 "You plitty gurl ..." purred Sing Foo. 
 "You like blacelet?" 
 
 He waited, beady eyes upon her face. 
 
 "Yer sneakin , yeller devil!" gasped 
 Gwenny. "Yer heard wot I said ter Sing!" 
 
 * * You plitty gurl ..." repeated Sing Foo in 
 his slurring accents with a sinister gentleness, 
 turning the bracelet between his fat hands so 
 light shot from it in blue and white sparks. 
 
 "It must ... be worth a heap!" stammered 
 Gwenny longingly. 
 
 Tantalizingly Sing Foo turned the bracelet 
 again, and, watching the blaze of gems, to 
 Gwenny came a picture of a white face with 
 sunken cheeks, and the sound of an incessant 
 cough racking a broad chest. Gold and dia 
 monds! 
 
 "I said as how I d do anythin ter save him!" 
 she whispered pitifully to herself in what was 
 almost a prayer. "But this no, my man d 
 rather die than be saved like this! It d be 
 better f er him ter die than be saved like this ! 
 I I couldn t go back an* face him." 
 [225]
 
 Anger began to beat through her in a still 
 white flame. She turned upon Sing Foo, throw 
 ing words at him with the effect of hurling 
 missiles. 
 
 "You yer sneakin , yeller devil! I knows 
 yer game. Allers a-sneakin around waitin an 
 waitin fer yer chance. An now yer thinks as 
 how yer got me only yer ain t. For I m tellin 
 yer there s things higher than life itself. Sing 
 Lu, yer own brother, taught me that in the 
 days when I was a hungry little shaver wantin 
 food worse than I ever thought as how I d want 
 anythin again!" 
 
 Indifferently Sing Foo turned the bracelet. 
 "To-night I leave the back door to my shop 
 open," he stated calmly. "You want blacelet, 
 you come in back door to-night." 
 
 "I ain t a-comin !" shrieked Grwenny furi 
 ously. "I ain t . . . ain t." 
 
 Whirling, she disappeared through the door, 
 before her tormented eyes the picture of a blaz 
 ing circlet of light jostling that pitiful image 
 of smitten strength. 
 
 Behind her Sing Foo smiled wickedly. * She 
 
 will come back," he said with calm certainty. 
 
 "Yes, undoubtedly she will come back, this 
 
 little white moth fluttering toward the flame. 
 
 [226]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 And then " his face set in lines of cruelty. 
 "Then shall this little white moth discover the 
 scorching heat of flame!" 
 
 Appreciatively he regarded the bracelet. 
 "Imitation gold glitters bravely," he chuckled. 
 "And sham diamonds blaze brightly. Truly 
 in all things am I, Sing Foo, an excellent man 
 of business!" 
 
 A pause while he rubbed his hands in satis 
 faction. This undoubtedly is to be for me an 
 auspicious day," he reflected aloud. "And 
 since this day is to see the realization of one of 
 my twin desires, shall I not also realize the 
 other?" Greedily his thoughts fastened upon 
 the image of the gold lacquered box. 
 
 "Long have I desired this box of gold until 
 desire runs like a flame in my veins," he mut 
 tered. "Shall I longer deny this consuming 
 hunger?" 
 
 "Whereupon he conferred with Loo Hong, a 
 villainous associate deriving his living from 
 dubious sources. 
 
 "Many years have I desired the gold lac 
 quered box containing the guardian of the Sing 
 fortunes," he explained over a tumbler of rice 
 whiskey flavored with ginger. "And long has 
 my brother possessed it. Regrettably he seems 
 [227]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 endowed with everlasting life by possession of 
 the box. Could that life be shortened it would 
 be worth much money to me. 
 
 "A worthy thought!" smirked the lean and 
 hungry Loo Hong, " which shall be rewarded 
 by a most unique taking away of this annoying 
 brother a taking away which shall come as a 
 delightful surprise to your august self." A 
 pause. "Where keeps your worthy brother 
 this box of gold?" inquired Loo Hong softly. 
 
 Sing Foo hesitated cannily. "The box of 
 gold with the porcelain fish protects only the 
 fortunes of the Sing family," he remarked 
 warily. 
 
 "Indeed so!" agreed Loo Hong, hiding a 
 smile. "To my family the possession of a 
 porcelain fish would be most unfortunate, only 
 creatures of the air possessing friendly in 
 fluence." 
 
 "The box," said Sing Foo, reassured, "is 
 kept in a chest of camphor-wood to which my 
 brother carries the key. 
 
 "Keys can be duplicated," assured Loo 
 Hong. "I have in my possession keys of great 
 number, at times most useful to me." 
 
 With mutual compliments they separated, 
 Sing Foo returning to. his shop. 
 
 "On this day," he murmured to himself, 
 [228]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 picking his way carefully over mud puddles and 
 once over the rotting carcase of a long deceased 
 dog, "will I realize my twin desires, pos 
 session of the box of gold and of that flower my 
 brother has reared in all sweetness." 
 
 Standing without his door, he pondered 
 deeply. "Are the good rewarded with their 
 just deserts?" he questioned contemptuously. 
 "Not so! To my brother has come only 
 poverty, blindness, love denied, and now loss of 
 the gold lacquered box and of life itself! 
 Whereas to me, his unworthy brother, has come 
 possession of riches and will come the gold box 
 and this bud of an alien race. Wherefore are 
 the teachings of the Lord Gautama Buddha 
 gentle tales suited to children and the weak, 
 and not to a man of strength like myself ! 
 
 Snapping his fingers contemptuously, he un 
 locked the door, spitting at the image of 
 Buddha, installed by Sing Lu on a shelf at the 
 rear of the shop, before he seated himself com 
 fortably with pipe and tiny lamp. 
 
 "AM!" he purred, twisting an opium needle 
 in the treacly black mass until a tiny bead ad 
 hered to its tip, and transferring it to the tiny 
 blue flame. "Flowers will I place in her un 
 bound hair. And jewels around her slim white 
 neck, even upon her soft white toes." Opales- 
 [229]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 cent smoke rolled away from the fizzing bead 
 upon the needle. "Once this little white moth 
 laughed at Sing Foo, yet to-night, in spite of 
 the many gifts I shall heap upon her, the little 
 white moth will not laugh. Yet I, Sing Foo, 
 will laugh until I am drunken with the wine of 
 laughter ! 
 
 He was not altogether pleased with the 
 abrupt entrance of Sing Lu. 
 
 State thy business and begone, Crawling 
 Worm!" he commanded haughtily. "For to 
 night I myself have business of importance to 
 do with this bud of another race which you have 
 reared into beauty. " 
 
 "I come upon a matter of business," stated 
 Sing Lu, producing the gold lacquered box 
 from his sleeve. "Yet I warn you, Creep 
 ing Slime, that a tower of evil reared to a cer 
 tain point topples to a fall. And whoso at 
 tempts to destroy what is altogether good is 
 himself destroyed. Moreover . . . where I 
 have obeyed the teachings of the Lord Buddha 
 in all things, permitting you to thrive un 
 molested in all your wickedness, yet harm so 
 much as one hair of this little daughter of my 
 spirit, and on that day will I, Sing Lu, lift my 
 hand against you in settlement!" 
 [230]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Your words are full of power not so your 
 hands!" sneered Sing Foo. "Wherefore I 
 fear not. State the business which brings you 
 here and begone!" 
 
 "For five hundred pounds English will I give 
 to you the box of gold." 
 
 Sing Foo blinked in astonishment. "For 
 five hundred pounds you will sell the good for 
 tune of the Sing family?" he inquired ironi 
 cally. 
 
 "Even so," assented Sing Lu. 
 
 Sing Foo hesitated thriftily. He had al 
 ready paid out a sum which would insure him 
 possession of the box and riddance of this hated 
 brother, why squander a further sum? 
 
 "I no longer desire the box," he stated com 
 placently, his hands twitching with eagerness 
 to hold it in their grasp. 
 
 "Then," said Sing Lu, turning away, "it 
 remains for me to find another purchaser. " 
 
 "Wait!" commanded Sing Foo hastily, per 
 plexed over this new angle of the problem. 
 Did Sing Lu dispose of the box the sum paid 
 for his taking away would be wasted. Like 
 wise it would be necessary to arrange for the 
 killing of the new possessor of the box, which 
 might be troublesome and expensive and bring 
 [231]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 upon him the vengeance of a rival tong. If he 
 paid the five hundred pounds to Sing Lu soon 
 very soon he would regain it. 
 
 * 1 1 will give you the fi ve x hundred pounds, 
 he decided abruptly. 
 
 Counted out in gold," stipulated Sing Lu. 
 
 "Even so," agreed Sing Foo wryly. Going 
 to his safe, he produced a clinking sack of gold, 
 counting out the money carefully. 
 
 Sing Lu himself counted the gold with 
 slender, sensitive fingers, weighing each coin in 
 his thin palm. 
 
 "It is correct," he pronounced at last, pro 
 ducing a square of strong silk and tying it up. 
 
 "The box!" cried Sing Foo in a smothered 
 voice. "The gold lacquered box with the por 
 celain fish ! 
 
 Sing Lu passed it over with something of 
 sadness. " It is here. 
 
 "Begone!" cried Sing Foo furiously, his 
 greedy hands closing upon their prey. "And 
 be assured that when worms are feasting upon 
 thy hated body I will not even afford the char 
 ity of a rented grave !" 
 
 The sightless eyes of Sing Lu strained at him 
 
 from the doorway. "In all things have I 
 
 obeyed the teachings of the Lord Buddha," he 
 
 reflected aloud wistfully. "I have not borne 
 
 [232]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 malice. I have tried to do and think only good 
 things where many times it has been diffi 
 cult . . ." he sighed. "Yet do I believe that 
 in his own good time the Lord Buddha will 
 speak. For truly if such a plant of wickedness 
 be permitted to nourish, then wherefore is good 
 good and evil evil?" 
 
 "Begone!" hissed Sing Foo, livid with rage. 
 
 Alone, he raised the box to his cheek, delight 
 ing in physical contact with its metallic smooth 
 ness, crooning to it as if it were alive. 
 
 "Mine . . . mine!" sighed Sing Foo in 
 ecstasy of possession. 
 
 Presently, his exultant mood calming, he 
 lowered the box, opening it with eager fingers 
 and thrusting in a greedy hand for the porce 
 lain fish. 
 
 And of a sudden that groping hand ceased. 
 A look of horror and surprise crossed his suf 
 fused face. A shriek of imprecation burst 
 from his sagging lips as he remembered Loo 
 Hong, his sly inquiry regarding the where 
 abouts of the gold box, and his promise of a de 
 lightful surprise. 
 
 "Fool!" shrieked Sing Foo in loud Chinese. 
 "Fool! Blunderer! Goat with tine Brain of 
 an Ass!" 
 
 Surprisingly he slithered down to the floor 
 [233]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 and from his very inertness it was evident life 
 had fled. 
 
 Then from the half open box lying just be 
 yond one black and swollen hand a sliding, shin 
 ing something emerged, skimmed the floor in 
 swift flight, and vanished through the unlatched 
 door, seeking vainly a refuge of shrubbery 
 similar to that of its native land . 
 
 [234]
 
 A PRINCE OF CHINA
 
 IN the very beginning the lives of Chang 
 Tung, born to the splendor of a Manchu s 
 palace in the Forbidden City, and of Chin 
 Yuen, growing into beauty and grace in the 
 countryside of Canton, and of the evil Li 
 Chong, spawned on a sampan in the crowded 
 harbor of Shanghai, lay far apart. 
 
 Never in those first radiant days could Chang 
 Tung, first-born of a mighty Prince, have fore 
 seen that his glory would vanish, obscured by 
 clouds of disgrace, and that for him the high 
 point of his life would come in Li Chong s 
 Palace of Heavenly Entertainment in far off 
 Melbourne, when his slow descent into degra 
 dation would be arrested by the love of a slave 
 girl and he himself thrust upward again into 
 dignity and honor. 
 
 Nor could Chin Yuen, the slave girl, have 
 foreseen in the happy days when, from sheer 
 lighthearted gayety, she danced upon a carpet 
 of cherrybloom in the courtyard of her many- 
 eaved home, that the father who had been all 
 kindness and love would change to a wasted 
 [237]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 severity sacrificing Ms well loved daughter to a 
 further procuring of the opium which deadened 
 him to all ties of honor and affection; or that 
 she would one day dance, less lightheartedly, 
 for the avid-eyed frequenters of that same 
 palace of Li Chong. 
 
 Not even Li Chong himself, greasing his body 
 and sticking his queue full of needles to lend a 
 degree of safety to his profession of thief, had 
 any idea that he would one day be rich and 
 powerful by reason of a less venturesome thiev 
 ing, or that he would hold in his power a prince 
 of the race which scorned him. 
 
 Yet these things were to be: In the gam 
 bling palace of Li Chong these three lives so 
 widely separated by circumstances of birth 
 were to run briefly parallel, brought together 
 by the working out of destiny, and becoming in 
 the end inextricably snarled, only that of 
 Chang Tung the Manchu emerging clear and 
 free. . . . 
 
 Li Chong of Shanghai came, in the beginning, 
 of the lowest strata of society. His mother 
 was a river girl of Shanghai, than which there 
 is no greater depth of degradation. Spawned 
 as casually as one of a litter of pigs in the tiny 
 sampan, reeking with filth, which she plied back 
 [238]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 and forth in the crowded harbor, his arrival 
 presented a problem demanding immediate so 
 lution, maternity failing to appeal either to her 
 sentiment or to the economic conditions under 
 which she existed. 
 
 Wherefore, as indifferently as if he had really 
 been one of a litter of little pigs, perhaps more 
 so, since pigs have a distinct value, she spurned 
 him forth to shift for himself almost before his 
 eyes were open. Had he been a girl, those 
 carts creaking down the twisted streets of 
 Shanghai before dawn would have added one 
 more to the tiny bodies which were their 
 freight. As it was, his sex secured him a 
 temporary delay. The protesting infant, 
 shrieking lustily against the discomfort of the 
 chill air, was set adrift in a leaky old tub, far 
 ing forth into the darkness like some weird ship 
 seeking adventure, bumping against various 
 objects in the cluttered harbor as it went. 
 
 Among other things the tub collided with the 
 sampan of a solitary boatman, who threw up 
 his hands in amaze. 
 
 "So little and so angry!" he marveled. 
 * Truly the evil spirits will be attracted by the 
 bleating of this young goat. And if I refuse 
 aid, who knows but they will levy toll from me, 
 already most unfortunate!" 
 [239]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Whereupon lie lifted the shrieking child to 
 his arms, with the gratifying result that the 
 crying ceased immediately, the hungry infant 
 nuzzling the hand which held it. 
 
 "Ahi! what a greedy one!" shouted the boat 
 man jovially. "Another hungry mouth to 
 feed, eh?" 
 
 Prudently he thought of his wife and of the 
 girl child he had disposed of without loss of 
 time in his rage and disappointment at the non- 
 arrival of the long desired son to worship at his 
 grave. 
 
 11 Where there is food without cost shall the 
 hungry not be fed?" he inquired cannily, re 
 garding the child which had fallen asleep from 
 sheer exhaustion. "And, moreover, where the 
 feeding of a useless girl child may be extrava 
 gance for a poor man, yet is the rearing of a 
 son entirely a different matter." 
 
 To his wife an hour later he remarked 
 briefly : 
 
 "The gods which denied me a son have re 
 lented. Here then is our son." 
 
 "But this little monster has the face of a 
 pig ! * protested his wife, shrinking back. 
 
 "The little pig is hungry; feed it," com 
 manded the boatman roughly. "And let not 
 [240]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 the mother of a girl child be over ready to find 
 fault with the son the gods have sent. 
 
 Reluctantly the woman took the strange child 
 to her breast. "Yet has this child the face of 
 a pig," she insisted rebelliously. 
 
 Perhaps to the boatman s wife in that mo 
 ment was given some prevision of the qualities 
 Li Chong would later develop, for ill did he re 
 pay his rescuer, cracking the skull of his foster 
 father in his fourteenth year and escaping with 
 the meager handful of Chinese silver he reaped 
 by that murderous act. 
 
 Shall three mouths be given food where only 
 one need be fed?" he had reasoned callously, 
 reflecting upon the feebleness with which age 
 and poor living had endowed the boatman and 
 his wife. "Not so! 7 
 
 After devious wanderings and deeds, which, 
 once discovered, would have hung him by the 
 head in a criminal s cage to hang until he was 
 dead, he found his way to a land supervised by 
 the more merciful justice of an alien govern 
 ment. And here, as proprietor of the gambling 
 house, he waxed rich and powerful. 
 
 In years gone by Li Chong s Palace of 
 Heavenly Entertainment stood upon that cor 
 ner of the Chinese quarter of Melbourne where 
 [241]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 lean, black-sateen-smocked workers now thump 
 heavy irons until far into the night. 
 
 Gone are the famous underground rooms 
 fitted out in gorgeous furnishings of carved 
 teakwood in red and ebony, the amazingly thick 
 rugs blending faded tones of rare old blue and 
 purple and rose. Gone are Chang Tung the 
 Manchu, who played upon his silver flute, and 
 Chin Yuen with her quaint posturing dances 
 and small wistful face. Even Li Chong him 
 self is gone since that day when, looking up 
 from the abacus on which he was counting with 
 greedy fingers, he saw, looming large above 
 him, the tall presence of Chang Tung the 
 Manchu, and, seeing the implacable purpose in 
 those glittering eyes above him, recognized his 
 doom in the half second before the curved steel 
 of Chang Tung s knife left a fast widening 
 smear of jetting crimson across his lean 
 throat. 
 
 To himself in that brief instant Li Chong 
 smiled defiantly. "Yet am I the victor, 
 Heaven-Born!" he gasped triumphantly. "Be 
 cause always you, Manchu, will remember 
 whereas what is death but a forgetting?" 
 
 In which he was entirely right. Chang Tung 
 the Manchu did remember. Even after he had 
 gone back to the Forbidden City of his youth 
 [242]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 and become a power in his struggling country, 
 part of him still lived in the gambling-rooms of 
 Li Chong. 
 
 Li Chong in his embroidered satin robes; 
 Chin Yuen in her pale blue trousers and jaunty 
 coat, a budding lily against the smooth black 
 ness of her hair ; Chin Yuen lying straight and 
 stiff and cold, deaf to his ardor, a smile of res 
 ignation upon her flowerlike mouth . . . out 
 of the past came these vivid pictures to torment 
 Chang Tung even in his great ancestral halls. 
 This is the story : 
 
 In the days which are gone, Li Chong s 
 Palace of Heavenly Entertainment presented 
 to the casual passerby a deceptive front in the 
 guise of an innocent business in preserved 
 fruits and delicacies, embroidered coats, and 
 carved trifles from China and Japan. 
 
 But once evening came and the heavy green 
 shutters were barred and bolted into place, the 
 initiate trod an eager path to the back room 
 and downward underground to where Li Chong 
 himself, arrayed in heavily embroidered satin, 
 greeted his paying guests with the ironic smile 
 of one who earned his living by catering to the 
 vices of his fellowmen. 
 
 And, greeting that smiling figure with suave 
 [243]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 courtesy, one and all thrilled to the presence of 
 something subtly menacing, vaguely felt in the 
 person of Li Chong, placating him with fulsome 
 flattery and coarse adulation before hastening 
 to the tables where games of Fan Tan, Chai 
 Mui, and Po Tsze were in progress under the 
 charge of an expressionless Chinese. 
 
 Fortunes were lost seldom won over the 
 tables of Li Chong. At least a half dozen men 
 have been beggared of honor, even life itself, 
 over those smooth tables. But always, in spite 
 of the tragedies great and small which follow 
 the hazard of chance, the tables were fringed 
 with crowding, intent yellow faces, for the 
 typical Chinese is an inveterate gambler. 
 
 Late one night, turning away from the 
 tables, Chang Tung, born to the splendor of a 
 Manchu s castle in the far-off land, the story of 
 his fall from glory presenting an Odyssey only 
 second to that familiar to literature, drew non 
 chalantly from his sleeve a silver flute. 
 
 For the gravely listening Chinese he played 
 first a song soft and silken as the texture of 
 lotus buds in first bloom, changing to harsh 
 and strident measure lifted from the battle 
 chant of the hill warriors of China. 
 
 When he had finished, he looked at Li Chong. 
 "My wealth has vanished, " he explained. 
 [244]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Each night will I play to your guests . . . for 
 a consideration/* 
 
 And Li Chong, his lip quirking with contempt 
 as his eyes passed over the shabby figure con 
 fronting him, sunken to the last depths of pov 
 erty, yet betraying in coppery skin and high- 
 bridged nose the irrefutable fact of Manchu 
 birth, smiled insolently. 
 
 "For your playing will I give to you each 
 night the equivalent of two dollars Mex," he 
 agreed softly, reckoning in the coinage which 
 is the trading exchange in Shanghai, his native 
 city. "Surely, to me who was born a coolie, 
 it is worth that to have a Manchu as my ser 
 vant. 
 
 In which he was quite correct. For always, 
 in spite of his seeming greatness, knowledge 
 of ignoble birth throbbed just below the surface 
 of his urbanity, flooding his secret soul with 
 bitterness. 
 
 Then, on another evening when the liquid 
 notes from the silver flute of Chang Tung 
 mounted high in the smoke-filled room, one Tai 
 Cheung turned sullenly to Li Chong. 
 
 "All that I possess has gone to swell your 
 wealth, Great One," he announced, "save 
 only one thing ..." 
 
 "And that?" smiled Li Chong affably. 
 [245]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 "A pearl of beauty which I have brought 
 from Canton for sale to one of sufficient wealth 
 to pay the price." 
 
 The oblique eyes of Li Chong narrowed 
 swiftly. "Has any man greater wealth than 
 I?" he inquired insolently. "I, Li Chong, will 
 wager against this unseen pearl of beauty any 
 sum you name." 
 
 "Two thousand pounds English!" cried Tai 
 Cheung greedily. 
 
 "Indeed!" assented Li Chong. For just a 
 second one of the lids veiling his slanting eyes 
 trembled into an imperceptible wink toward the 
 Chinese presiding at the table. 
 
 Shortly afterward Tai Cheung turned away, 
 furious with disappointment. 
 
 "You are ah satisfied?" purred Li Chong. 
 
 "Entirely so," acquiesced Tai Cheung, mur 
 der in his heart. 
 
 "Then produce this pearl of beauty," de 
 manded Li Chong. 
 
 And when, some few minutes later, Tai 
 Cheung returned, leading the veiled figure of a 
 young Chinese girl, drawing away the veil with 
 reluctant hand, an exclamation of gratified sur 
 prise burst from Li Chong. 
 
 "Ah!" said Li Chong, drawing a great 
 breath. 
 
 [246]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 Color flushed the young face, accustomed 
 only to the eyes of father and brother. Timidly 
 the wide-apart eyes sought the floor, as she 
 shrank from the crowding, eager men. 
 
 "Can you dance?" inquired Li Chong after 
 a second s thought. 
 
 "I can dance, Great One." He barely 
 heard the timid answer. 
 
 "Play!" commanded Li Chong insolently of 
 the Manchu. 
 
 And Chang Tung, lifting his silver flute 
 obediently, felt in his heart the first stirrings 
 of pity as the trembling girl began a quaint 
 posturing, using a fan now as a sword, now as 
 an instrument of coquetry. 
 
 "Each night," announced Li Chong impor 
 tantly, "will Chang Tung the Manchu and Chin 
 Yuen, the Bud of Beauty, entertain my guests." 
 
 From under the heavy eyelashes of the 
 shrinking girl, remembering other dances in 
 golden sunlight upon a carpet of cherrybloom, 
 tears ran down over her small, wistful face. 
 
 And, seeing, Chang Tung of a sudden brought 
 from his flute the high, shrill melody with 
 which the hill warriors hurl anathema against 
 their enemies. 
 
 In the days which followed they were two* 
 [247]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 very miserable young people, Chin Yuen 
 nightly displaying her fresh young beauty in 
 the posturing dances performed for the delecta 
 tion of the frequenters of Li Chong s Palace of 
 Heavenly Entertainment, and Chang Tung, 
 fallen from the glory of his high estate to the 
 disgrace of accompanying those same dances 
 with the charmed music extracted by his supple 
 yellow fingers from his silver flute. 
 
 Nightly Chin Yuen sobbed in the shelter of 
 the friendly darkness in an anguish of longing 
 for the broad breast of her mother and all the 
 dear familiar things which had gone to make 
 up the home of her childhood: the flowering 
 plum tree in the courtyard; her brothers in 
 their gay jackets; the very tip- tilted eaves of 
 that home itself . . . 
 
 Nightly Chang Tung, remembering the life 
 to which he had been born, writhed beneath the 
 acid contempt of his f ellowmen, scorning to give 
 outward sign of the shafts which pierced his 
 sensitive pride. 
 
 And nightly Li Chong rubbed his hands with 
 satisfaction at the beauty of Chin Yuen and 
 the talent of Chang Tung, his mean soul re 
 joicing in this highly gratifying humbling of 
 the mighty. 
 
 "And you say your highly respected father 
 [248]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 was a Mandarin clad in silken breeches of 
 state?" he would inquire of the sullen Chang 
 Tung. 
 
 "A cousin of the Yellow Emperor!" would 
 correct Chang Tung furiously. 
 
 "And now you work for me, born of a river 
 girl of Shanghai!" would marvel Li Chong 
 maliciously. "Truly the ways of the gods are 
 wonderful to behold." 
 
 A silence. 
 
 "Yet you are grateful for the crumbs which 
 fall from my table of plenty, are you not, 
 Dragon Brood?" would inquire Li Chong 
 softly in his flat nasal tone. * * For truly grati 
 tude is a most admirable emotion." Beneath 
 the softness of his voice was a perceptible 
 threat. 
 
 "I am grateful!" would acknowledge Chang 
 Tung, hating himself for the weakness which 
 overlooked insult. 
 
 "Yet you remember, perhaps, other days?" 
 persisted his tormentor. 
 
 "I remember other days," would admit 
 Chang Tung, hot color flaming in his coppery 
 skin. 
 
 "Days in which, at the court of the Yellow 
 Emperor, you strutted peacockwise, sensing, 
 perhaps, from behind latticed walls, the admir- 
 [249]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 ing glances of young buds of beauty?" insisted 
 Li Chong one night, winking at Ms hearers. 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 A shout of mirth went up from the company 
 as they eyed his rags and unkempt appearance. 
 
 "Is he not sweet scented and a lover for any 
 maid?" demanded Sun Yat the Soothsayer, 
 smacking his lips with appreciation of his own 
 jest. 
 
 Li Chong smiled cruelly. "Then since this 
 is so," he suggested, "let us put it to a test, 
 Pekinese." A pause, for the effect of height 
 ening suspense for his eagerly listening audi 
 ence. Then he continued smoothly: "I am 
 wearied of Chin Yuen with her tears and lamen 
 tations. Win her heart and she is yours, to 
 gether with one hundred pounds English 
 enough to take you back to the Forbidden 
 City." 
 
 "And if I fail?" inquired Chang Tung, 
 plucking at the silver strings of a guitar. 
 "What then, Eiver-Spawned?" 
 
 * Then shall you work for me five years with 
 out return," decided Li Chong greedily. 
 
 "Truly a most liberal proposal!" extolled 
 Sun Yat suavely. 
 
 Abruptly Chang Tung twanged the strings 
 of his instrument, considering the proposition. 
 [250]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 To refuse meant disavowal of his own words 
 and a further losing of face before these low 
 born merchants. To win . . . involuntarily his 
 thoughts went to the pearl-white face of Chin 
 Yuen. 
 
 "What of the little Autumn Breeze if I re 
 fuse?" he inquired slowly. 
 
 Li Chong shrugged. * Perhaps I will sell her 
 to Yoh Kee, who has offered a most gratifying 
 price." 
 
 In silence Chang Tung considered, visioning 
 the tender, unhappy youth of Chin Yuen in the 
 establishment of Yoh Kee, from which, not in 
 frequently, under cover of nightfall, other even 
 younger girls had been carried forth, their eyes 
 closed in the sleep which comes of a pill of un 
 cooked opium. 
 
 "I accept your terms, Turtle from Shang 
 hai ! " he agreed quietly. But for a flitting in 
 the sun of courtship butterfly raiment must be 
 provided. A nightingale in the plumage of a 
 crow will not be distinguished by its beauty." 
 
 "It shall be so," agreed Li Chong unwill 
 ingly, after due reflection. 
 
 Sun Yat the Soothsayer considered the slim 
 length of Chang Tung appraisingly. 
 
 "In brighter plumage this strutting peacock 
 may succeed, he informed Li Chong dubiously. 
 [251]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Li Chong smiled vaingloriously. "Shall a 
 full-fledged owl of wisdom be trapped by a 
 fledgling of sprouting wings?" he demanded. 
 "When did the wisdom of Li Chong ever pro 
 pound a riddle without knowledge of the 
 answer?" 
 
 "I will play for you," announced Chang 
 Tung, lifting his flute to his lips. He played 
 a song of old China, silken sweet and crystal 
 clear, full of the beauty of plum trees blossom 
 laden and of moon magic. Then, his audience 
 wrapt in the dreams his music had awakened, 
 abruptly he changed to the familiar song of the 
 hill warriors, loud, crashing, and full of subtle 
 insolent challenge. 
 
 Across the gulf of listening faces the eyes of 
 Li Chong and Chang Tung met and held . . . 
 
 Later, hearing the familiar sound of low sob 
 bing, Li Chong stopped in the doorway of Chin 
 Yuen. 
 
 "You are sad, Little Bud of Beauty," he said 
 mockingly. "But here is news to dry thy tears 
 which drip as unceasingly as spring rain. A 
 lover is to pay court at your shrine, sweet 
 scented, garbed royally, and of glorious an 
 cestry . . ." he paused, studying the flushed, 
 tremulous face of Chin Yuen. "All the pleas 
 ures of courtship which the foreign devils enjoy 
 [252J
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 shall be yours, " he continued suavely. "The j 
 verses, the gifts, the songs, the gentle words, 
 
 yet " he paused, and the very gentleness of 
 
 his tone struck terror to her heart. " Guard 
 well your heart, Little Bud, for should you yield 
 to the persuasions of this golden-voiced pleader, 
 on that day will I prepare for you the round 
 ball of sleep which is the wage of the faithless 
 in heart!" 
 
 Shivering, Chin Yuen lay in the darkness 
 after he had gone, wide-eyed and flushed of 
 face, considering this new cruelty devised by 
 Li Chong. 
 
 Thereafter followed the enactment of a com 
 edy which tickled the ribs of all the Chinese 
 populace of Melbourne : the spectacle of a high 
 born Manchu diligently wooing a slave girl, at 
 the bidding of an erstwhile coolie from 
 Shanghai. 
 
 "How goes thy wooing, Hired Lover?" 
 would gurgle Sun Yat the Soothsayer mali 
 ciously, meeting Chang Tung in the narrow, 
 congested limits of the street known among 
 the Chinese as The Street of a Thousand De 
 lights. 
 
 "Does not a snail creep slowly where an eagle 
 flies swiftly, Interested One?" would retort 
 [253]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 Chang Tung politely. "Yet does each reach 
 with equal surety his destination. " 
 
 Tucking a sly tongue in a discreet cheek, Sun 
 Yat passed on, chuckling with mirth. 
 
 * Truly this bit of scum born a Manchu talks 
 with a brave tongue ! " he confided to Li Chong, 
 whom he met a few steps farther on. 
 
 Li Chong, decorously arrayed in the rich 
 black satin he affected, smiled contemptuously. 
 "A crow shrieks as loudly as an eagle,* he ob 
 served complacently. "Yet is a crow always 
 a crow." 
 
 "You are forgetting that Chang Tung the 
 Manchu was born an eagle, reminded Sun Yat. 
 
 Li Chong shrugged. "An eagle consorting 
 with crows takes on the qualities of a crow," 
 he announced decisively. "Though Chang 
 Tung were a thousand times born a Manchu, I, 
 Li Chong, born of a river girl of Shanghai, hold 
 
 him in the hollow of my hand. See " he 
 
 aimed a kick at a dog, unwisely curious, hover 
 ing at his heels. "Chang Tung is like to this 
 dog, broken in spirit." 
 
 He aimed a second kick. With surprising 
 suddenness canine teeth met swiftly in the im 
 maculate silk clothing his ankle. 
 
 "Ahi, Wicked One!" shrieked Li Chong in 
 wrath and pain. 
 
 [254]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "You erred, Most Honorable Li Chong, in 
 not recognizing that the dog, while travel- 
 stained and weary, was born of a good breed, " 
 pointed out Sun Yat. 
 
 And then it was that, influenced by his pain, 
 Li Chong betrayed the reason of his secret cer 
 tainty of Chang Tung s ultimate failure. 
 
 "The Dragon Brood will fail," he asserted. 
 "Is not my wisdom greater than the cunning 
 of his race? Chin Yuen, who weeps forever 
 in the silence of the night, knows that on the 
 day she yields to the honeyed words of the 
 Manchu she passes into the sleep of unending 
 dreams. 
 
 "But . . ." puzzled Sun Yat, not compre 
 hending. "Has not your word been passed 1 ?" 
 
 "Said I how I would turn Chin Yuen over 
 to him?" inquired Li Chong keenly. He 
 shrugged. "And will Chin Yuen, knowing that 
 to do so means unending sleep for herself, 
 yield to Chang Tung? Not so! Yet will they 
 love each other, these two, and loving, will 
 suffer. And seeing their suffering, the soul of 
 Li Chong will rejoice in this exquisite revenge 
 over a haughty Manchu." 
 
 "Ahi!" chuckled Sun Yat in sympathy. "A 
 most delicate sport, truly, and devised by a 
 keen brain." A pause. "Yet upon their love 
 [255]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 of each other depends the success of the jest," 
 he pointed out. 
 
 "How many moons since a woman has looked 
 with kind eyes upon Chang Tung, sunken into 
 the gutter from which my mercy has lifted 
 him?" argued Li Chong triumphantly. "And 
 the Autumn Breeze which sheds its sweetness 
 beneath my roof is lonely. Moreover, are they 
 both young, and young hearts reach out, each 
 to the other. The heart of Chin Yuen will re 
 spond to the silver voice of Chang Tung the 
 Manchu. And Chang Tung, loving this little 
 Mourning Dove, will urge the more persua 
 sively a suit to which she dare not yield. Thus 
 I, Li Chong, will afford a most amusing spec 
 tacle to my friends and also win for myself 
 five years unpaid service, which is a bargain 
 worthy of my wisdom. 
 
 "Truly are you most wise," admired Sun 
 Yat. "And not from my tongue shall leak any 
 information to spoil the sport you have de 
 vised." 
 
 Songs of splendid deeds Chang Tung lavished 
 upon Chin Yuen in the intervals they were to 
 gether. Gifts provided by the crafty Li Chong 
 he gave to her: Bags of melon seed, boxes of 
 candied citrous fruits, perfumes from the far 
 [256]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 East, and flowers for the blackness of her hair. 
 
 Indifferently Chin Yuen received them all. 
 Except for a growing 1 tenderness in her eyes 
 he apparently made no headway, and in the 
 quiet hours of the night her grief still pursued 
 its course like some mighty river unhindered 
 by the flimsy barriers of man. 
 
 "Why do you weep?" inquired Chang Tung 
 softly one night, when they stood together, 
 after a just finished dance, and their audience 
 had gone back to the gaming tables. 
 
 Chin Yuen lifted great unhappy eyes wet 
 with tears. 
 
 "I weep for all I have known and loved," she 
 told him wistfully. "For my home, the happi 
 ness of waking in a knowledge of security, and 
 for my mother." 
 
 "You loved your mother?" persisted Chang 
 Tung gently. 
 
 A silence. He saw the strained intensity with 
 which her fingers clasped. And of a sudden her 
 smooth, shining head bent low above those 
 straining fingers. 
 
 "My mother ..." sobbed Chin Yuen brok 
 enly. "The life of a Chinese woman is not all 
 happiness, My Lord. We were both women, 
 and therefore were we the closer. Like sisters 
 we were, held in a bond of love of which no man 
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 can have knowledge, since only those who fear 
 can draw close in mutual need of protection. 
 She was all my world, my mother, and I the 
 very core of her heart." She sighed. " There 
 came then a spirit of evil to live in my father, 
 changing him from kindness and love so that 
 he became cruel and unkind to us. All that we 
 had went little by little to supply him with the 
 poppy smoke he craved . . ." 
 
 The sobbing deepened, Chang Tung making 
 a movement of sympathy. 
 
 My father though he bought her for a bag 
 of gold loved my mother," said Chin Yuen 
 pitifully. "On feast days he would give her 
 rich gifts : a pot of lilies, armlets of jade per 
 haps . . . Yet one day he sent her to the tem 
 ple gardens with my brothers. And when she 
 had gone he sold me to the men from the city. 
 And I went away, always looking backward, 
 my eyes aching to see that face which had been 
 my world ..." 
 
 A pause. 
 
 "And then?" inquired Chang Tung gently. 
 
 "She came, running, beating her breast with 
 
 her fists, calling to me " Again the low, 
 
 muffled sobbing. 
 
 "Poor Little Butterfly!" said Chang Tung 
 [258]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 tenderly. "Listen and I will play a song to 
 heal thy bruised heart." 
 
 He played, and from those crystal-clear 
 strains came the elements of a picture: A 
 Chinese courtyard thick with cherry blossoms, 
 the sound of a gentle voice singing, herself a 
 tiny child essaying the first steps of a simple 
 dance . . . 
 
 "Ahi!" sobbed Chin Yuen despairingly. 
 "Your music is an ache which reaches my tor 
 mented soul." 
 
 "In your heart is a great emptiness," coun 
 seled Chang Tung, "and a need of love. Fill, 
 then, this emptiness with another image of 
 love. 
 
 Then, looking down closely into her wide, 
 dark eyes, he sensed an unutterable reproach 
 which laid upon him a sense of guilt and shame. 
 
 "I would not harm you . . ."he stammered 
 suddenly. 
 
 "Yet, without knowledge, may one wreak dis 
 aster," returned Chin Yuen very gently. 
 
 Days followed in which Chang Tung, dili 
 gently urging his suit upon Chin Yuen, with all 
 Melbourne Chinatown watching and chuckling, 
 its tongue slyly tucked in cheek, became aware 
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 of an added feeling of doubt and mistrust 
 which sought to express itself in words. 
 
 "We are two outcasts far from all we have 
 known and held dear," he said to Chin Yuen 
 on another night when they stood unobserved 
 in a corner of the great room, Chin Yuen droop 
 ing beneath her utter weariness. "And be 
 cause of that my heart goes out to you like a 
 bird returning to its nest. Yet in that heart 
 which flutters out to yours is only tenderness, 
 gentleness, and a wish to protect. Say only 
 that you love me, Little Spent Bird, and I 
 will take you far away from the cruelty of Li 
 Chong." " 
 
 "He does not know . . ." thought Chin Yuen 
 unhappily, remembering Li Chong and his 
 threat. 
 
 "In our country I was once a Prince," per 
 sisted Chang Tung gently. * Did I return there 
 I could perhaps who knows? regain my 
 rightful place." 
 
 "How should I dare lift my eyes to your 
 greatness, Manchu Born?" said Chin Yuen 
 almost inaudibly. "I am but a slave girl of 
 Li Chong." 
 
 "What matters it if we love?" challenged 
 Chang Tung. 
 
 "You do not belong here, Great One," 
 [260]
 
 urged Chin Yuen in confusion. Return to thy 
 high estate. * 
 
 Chang Tung shook his head, smiling. And 
 then, touching his coat significantly, "Even my 
 clothes were purchased by Li Chong because of 
 a certain bargain between us," he explained. 
 "Shall a Manchu break his pledged word and 
 become a thief as well?" 
 
 Later, sitting at her window in the moonlight, 
 looking out to where the squalor and filth of the 
 street below was redeemed somewhat from ab 
 solute ugliness by the kindly veil of moon rays, 
 Chin Yuen thought of her talk with Chang 
 Tung, her heart summoning his image in all 
 the clearness of his young earnestness. 
 
 "He will not break his word to the despised 
 Li Chong, this Manchu," she reflected. "Nor 
 will it be permitted me to return to China with 
 him as he desires ..." involuntarily she re 
 membered the tenderness in his voice and his 
 promise of protection. "I wish ..." said Chin 
 Yuen wistfully, looking out into the night filled 
 with stars "... that I might go back to China 
 with Chang Tung, who is a Prince!" 
 
 For a long time she stared out into the dark 
 ness, visioning happily that splendid life in the 
 Forbidden City with Chang Tung. "I I could 
 love him, this Chang Tung," she sighed at last. 
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 "Yet if I love Mm, then must I die. And if I 
 deny my love, then will Chang Tung, with all 
 his pride of a Prince, be humiliated in the eyes 
 of these low-born ones . . . wherefore he will 
 flee far from this place of evil, returning un 
 doubtedly to the place which is his, and wiping 
 out the memory of the stain upon his pride 
 with great deeds . . . which is as it should 
 be" she paused, overcome with sudden bitter 
 ness "for who am I that I should hold back 
 Chang Tung, a Prince of China?" she finished. 
 
 Thereafter, with something of the despera 
 tion of a small frightened furry creature in a 
 trap, Chin Yuen fought against her growing 
 loneliness and the tenderness for Chang Tung, 
 which threatened the wisdom of her decision. 
 
 And when, on a day Li Chong was absent and 
 they were alone, overcome by yearning she 
 kissed the thin curving lips of Chang Tung, 
 she fell on her knees, weeping prayers to the 
 gentle Buddha and his rival Confucius alike in 
 the terror of her frightened youth. Nor could 
 Chang Tung comfort her. 
 
 "Who am I that I should dare lift my eyes 
 to your greatness?" wept Chin Yuen. "For 
 you, Great One, are a Prince of China, while 
 I am but a dancing girl." 
 [262]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "You are the rose which blooms in my gar 
 den of happiness," said Chang Tung softly. 
 * The ray of light pointing the way out of dark 
 ness !" Eaising her from the floor he held her 
 trembling weight against his breast. "Let me 
 tell this tailless horse you love me," he urged, 
 offering to the absent Li Chong the most deadly 
 of insults. 
 
 Chin Yuen moaned with terror. "No, My 
 Lord," she implored, catching him frantically 
 with both fluttering hands. "This thing which 
 has come to us, this flower of our despair it is 
 so sweet. Let us hold it close in secret before 
 revealing it to the evil Li Chong." 
 
 "How can I deny you?" sighed Chang Tung. 
 Yet are we not free ! 
 
 "No woman is ever free," coaxed Chin Yuen. 
 "For just a little while, Lord of my Heart?" 
 
 Then, at his nod of consent, she spoke reso 
 lutely of his radiant future, painting it for him 
 in glowing colors until the long dead fire of 
 ambition flamed to new life in Chang Tung. 
 
 "You will go back, My Lord, to the greatness 
 which will be yours?" 
 
 * * I will go back ! vowed Chang Tung. And 
 you, Pearl of Beauty, will be at my side." 
 
 And Chin Yuen, seeing the time when she 
 would dance without even the slender comfort 
 [263]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 of Chang Tung s silver flute, passed a trembling 
 hand across betraying lips. "I?" she let her 
 dark head droop against him. "But assuredly 
 I will be there." 
 
 Then, eagerly, "Without my urging you 
 would not have gone back, is it not so, Heaven- 
 Born!" 
 
 Chang Tung shook his head doubtfully. "I 
 had sunk so far, he murmured. * * But for you, 
 Flower of Great Sweetness, no height is too 
 steep, no road too rough to travel." 
 
 Into the small wistful face of Chin Yuen came 
 a radiance of content. "Even to the smallest 
 may be given greatness of accomplishment," 
 she sighed happily into his ear. * And is it not 
 woman s glory to work through the strength of 
 man rather than with her own weakness?" 
 
 Catching the fragrance of peach blossom 
 which drifted to him from the smoothly coiled 
 hair, a tenderness rose up into Chang Tung s 
 throat, choking him into silence. Silently he 
 put out one long slender hand, curving his fin 
 gers around the dimpled wrist hidden in her 
 wide sleeve. Chin Yuen looked up at him, in 
 her eyes a rapture of adoration. 
 
 "Softly . . . softly, One Who Holds My 
 Heart in His Hand!" she murmured, hearing 
 the approach of footsteps. "Else Li Chong, 
 [264]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 that despised one, will guess our secret." 
 "Sharper than the thrust of a dagger . . ." 
 thought Chin Yuen to herself as Li Chong came 
 in, "will be the pain of denying him I love 
 long distant be. that day ! 
 
 But in spite of all precautions and the decep 
 tive appearance of indifference the lovers 
 strove to display, a time came at last when Li 
 Chong flung patience to the winds, wearying of 
 his own sport. 
 
 "Must this farce, which has dragged beyond 
 even the limits of a Chinese play, endure until 
 eternity closes down like a lid upon all crea 
 tion?" he demanded impatiently one evening, 
 when his crowded rooms seemed to afford suffi 
 cient audience for the finish of his carefully 
 staged comedy. 
 
 A hiss of excitement followed. The elbowing, 
 jostling Chinese turned eagerly from the tables 
 to crowd around the unhappy Chin Yuen and 
 the imperturbable Chang Tung. 
 
 "Come," said Li Chong roughly to the trem 
 bling Chin Yuen. * Tell this boasting Pekinese 
 that he is less to you than the dust which stirs 
 beneath thy footsteps in the dance." 
 
 A pause. Chin Yuen looked toward Chang 
 Tung, unwilling to puncture his proud belief in 
 [265]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 her love with a few brief words. In the eyes 
 she lifted to Li Chong was a piteous appeal to 
 be spared from this. 
 
 Savagely Li Chong gripped her frail shoul 
 der with one malicious hand, provoked to rage 
 by her continued silence. 
 
 "Has the kia li stolen thy worthless tongue 7" 
 he questioned sharply. "Or must the chasten 
 ing bamboo caress thy feet to find the lost 
 voice? Speak and tell this Pekinese he is less 
 than nothing, merely a speck floating in the 
 sun of thy happiness. Then, in payment of his 
 boasting, shall this Heaven-born One slave five 
 years for me, Li Chong the Coolie, as was 
 agreed a five years which most truly shall 
 seem five times five!" 
 
 Then at last, hearing his flat nasal tone ap 
 portioning to Chang Tung five years of misery, 
 Chin Yuen understood what her denial of love 
 would mean in reality for Chang Tung. Five 
 years the slave of Li Chong even as she her 
 self . . . five years of cruelty and longing for 
 death which would irretrievably break his spirit 
 and forever rob him of his chance of becoming 
 great. 
 
 "No not that!" whispered Chin Yuen to 
 herself in horror. * Not for him, My Prince. I 
 [266]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 am a woman and women are strong to endure. 
 But he he is a Prince of China!" 
 
 Oblivious of the staring, curious eyes upon 
 her, she thought her way carefully through the 
 maze of uncertainty and terror engulfing her. 
 And then, surprisingly, the terror left her. 
 "He is a Prince of China and I am but a dancing 
 girl," thought Chin Yuen proudly. "Yet to 
 him can I give the gift of gifts his freedom!" 
 
 "You err, Great One!" she said steadily to 
 Li Chong, finding her voice at last a pitifully 
 husky voice, which, for all that, was strangely 
 clear and quiet, ringing to the farthest outskirts 
 of the avidly listening crowd. "For truly in 
 my ears the voice of the Manchu is like sun 
 shine upon flowers drenched with spring rain. 
 And is my heart a brimming cup filled to over 
 flowing with his image." 
 
 Li Chong gasped audibly. The veins in his 
 neck swelled to alarming size. His voice de 
 serted him entirely. His hands twitched with 
 eagerness to rend Chin Yuen limb from limb. 
 For an interminable minute they stood facing 
 each other silently, Li Chong, Chin Yuen, 
 pathetically white, and Chang Tung the 
 Manchu. 
 
 Then Wong Ting Fu, himself a Manchu born, 
 [ 267 ]
 
 THE STREET OF A 
 
 now proprietor of a seven-bunk opium layout, 
 voiced the sentiment of the listeners. 
 
 "The Manchu wins," he proclaimed exult 
 antly. "By your own terms, worthy Li Chong, 
 the girl and a hundred pounds English are his. 
 "We are witness!" 
 
 Li Chong swallowed with difficulty. "To 
 morrow will I fulfill the terms of my bargain," 
 he agreed suavely, terrible eyes upon Chin 
 Yuen. "One hundred pounds English and 
 the girl Chin Yuen to-morrow." 
 
 Chin Yuen shivered slightly, half closing her 
 eyes. And, looking upon her fairness, her for 
 lorn youth, and her unhappy wistfulness, Sun 
 Yat the Soothsayer spoke uncomfortably below 
 his breath. "Truly it is a pity!" he muttered. 
 And, not wishing to be troubled longer with a 
 sight his knowledge of Li Chong rendered sad, 
 he made his way out. 
 
 In obedience to a signal from Li Chong, Chin 
 Yuen also moved to leave the room, pressing 
 close to Chang Tung on her way, her wide eyes, 
 seemingly filled with golden lights, adoringly 
 upon his. 
 
 Soon will you forget the misery which has 
 been yours in this place," reassured Chang 
 Tung tenderly. "Until to-morrow, Beloved 
 Little Flower." 
 
 [268]
 
 THOUSAND DELIGHTS 
 
 "Until to-morrow!" sighed Chin Yuen. 
 Then, lingeringly, "You will go back, My 
 Lord?" 
 
 "I will go back," promised Chang Tung. 
 
 Lifting his silver flute as she passed on, he 
 played a melody which laid upon his audience a 
 spell of beauty, holding them quiet where they 
 stood, a melody wistful and sweet, with a note 
 or two of the exultation of triumphant hearts 
 in it. 
 
 "It is a Wedding Song," he said when he 
 had finished. 
 
 Looking toward the doorway through which 
 Chin Yuen in her blue satin trousers had van 
 ished, his thoughts pleasantly busy with the 
 small pill of uncooked opium he would shortly 
 prepare, Li Chong voiced his congratulations 
 to Chang Tung the Manchu. 
 
 "Until to-morrow . . ." he said mockingly, 
 and turned away to hide the evil smile upon 
 his thick lips. 
 
 [269]
 
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