THE amah had caught Dorothy and hauled her away to be washed, seeing which, Master Jack quickly made his escape from the verandah to the garden, and through the hot scent-laden evening air to the gate-house, where stood his chum Hong leaning at the door smoking a rank native cigarette rolled in an elongated cone of buff-coloured paper. Hong’s wife had just finished piously burning “joss papers,” and as she gazed at the last remaining sparks and light charred cinders that floated upwards in the still air, she stuck a few incense sticks in the crevices of the brick pavement before the door, and retired to the house to continue her unending household industries.

Hong’s placid face beamed at the approach of his master’s son, and setting a low bamboo stool he begged Jack to be seated.

“Tell us a story, Hong. Tell us what you did after you escaped. Did you then go and fight?”

“Not at once, Excellency,” replied Hong, squatting on his heels and knocking the ash off his cigarette. “After I ran away from Chin Wen Fu, having been released by my friends from the ropes and pegs that bound me down, I travelled fast without resting, in order to put as great a distance between my miserable, insignificant self and the far-reaching and all-powerful tao-tai as possible. I was, however, without money, and existed but badly on the charity of strangers, and it soon looked likely that I should die of hunger, when by great good chance I fell in with the theatrical company in which I had performed, they also having fled hot-foot from Chin Wen Fu and the tao-tai’s wrath. So I joined their company and became an actor.”

“I should think that was good fun. Father and mother acted here last winter—that was splendid.”

“I have seen your honourable parents act,” gravely replied Hong. “When the ignorant scoff I have reproved them. The actor’s life is a good one, although in my country we receive no honour, being accounted as the lowest of the low and not being allowed to compete in the examinations; but in your country your King even honours actors, ennobling their ancestors and giving them lands and titles. Is it not so?”

Jack replied that it undoubtedly was so, not knowing himself, but not wishing to throw any doubt on Hong’s knowledge.

“Such actions show merit in a king, and this insignificant person feels sure that the Son of Heaven would be pleased to hear of such pious acts being performed by rulers beyond the Middle Kingdom.”

Jack looked rather bored at this digression, so Hong hastened to continue.

“In this country the actor is never certain of making money for any length of time, and for quite a while my particular troupe suffered great privations. No one wanted stage plays just at that time, and we wandered about, earning a few cash here and there by juggling and reciting, and I spent much time in learning new parts.”

“I have read a story,” Jack interrupted, “in which a clown describes his sorrows at having to be funny on the stage while his wife was dying at home, so I think an actor’s life must often be a sad one.”

“No,” interposed Hong, “I think on the whole it is a merry one. The clown you speak of, if he were a true actor, forgot his sorrows while on the stage, infinitely more so than the merchant who has troubles at home. The true actor feels the part he is acting, whereas the merchant is always himself.”

“Yes: but when you play sad parts do you feel sad?”

“Undoubtedly while playing the part one could cry, but afterwards one can laugh, and there is always the feeling that one has done it well if at the time the sadness was really felt.”

“But what satisfaction does the man who plays the wicked part feel?”

“He feels that he has gained the dis-approbation of the audience. Their hisses are as food and drink to him, he is delighted, he has played his part, made himself out horrible and to be despised by the audience, and therefore feels proud in having interpreted the author’s meaning properly.”

“I see, I see,” replied Master Jack, who didn’t in the least understand Hong’s explanation, “but what about the fighting?”

“Oh, the fighting! Yes, I remember. Well, after travelling for many weeks and earning but little money, we at length reached the village of Three Bridges. So it was called. Really it possessed but one bridge, of which the inhabitants were inordinately proud—so proud, in fact, that they tried still further to impress strangers by naming their village Three Bridges, so that when the unknowing one had seen and admired the one he might be led to believe that two others equally fine existed. When we arrived we found that serious trouble existed between this village and the neighbouring village called Ten Li village, or Bad Roads. This other village being so called because in it were several inns, and whenever travellers arrived there and, wishing to pursue their journey, inquired how far it might be to the next town, the invariable answer of the townsfolk was that the nearest halting-place was ‘ten li’ distant, and if question was made of the roads leading thither, the answer would be invariably that they were bad—in fact, almost impassable. These two villages, Ten Li village and Three Bridges village, really depended a good deal on each other. Ten Li possessed valuable clay pits, and Three Bridges manufactured the clay into pottery and also sent it away in boats down the river; so really for their mutual good they should have been friendly. However, at this time war existed between them, and continuous fights were taking place, in which frequently people received grievous wounds, even to the death in some cases. The origin of the dispute had occurred more or less by accident. The clay for which Ten Li village was famous, and which Three Bridges village depended on for its pottery industry, was dug to a depth of some eighteen feet outside the village and near the main road. As the clay was excavated deep pits were formed, which eventually became deep pools of water. As the demand for clay increased, the road leading from Three Bridges to Ten Li became greatly encroached on by the excavators, and a climax was reached when, the road having become so narrowed by the clay-diggers, carts were unable to pass. This resulted in the precipitation of a cart from Three Bridges, laden with manufactured pottery, into a deep water hole. The spectators of Ten Li, far from helping the unfortunate merchant from Three Bridges, indulged in unseemly hilarity at his misfortune, which was serious enough to result in the drowning of one mule and the loss of a cart-load of pottery. The ill-feeling generated by this incident led to reprisals, until a state of warfare practically existed between the two villages.

“Our suggestion to the inhabitants of Three Bridges that we should give a dramatic performance was met by them with scorn and laughter. They said they were already impoverished by stagnation of trade and the necessity of carrying on warfare with the barbarians in Ten Li. They were willing to let our company fight on their side, but could offer us no hope of remuneration. Our case indeed looked bad. We could not proceed further on account of the local disturbances, there was no money to be made by going back, and it seemed that we should all starve, when unexpectedly some Heaven-sent intellects thought of arbitration. The wise old men from each village met, they discussed the loss of trade, money, and life that these troubles were occasioning, and at last decided that one more big fight should take place, and that the winners should have the honour of entertaining the surviving losers at a big theatrical performance, the performance to last three days, the expenses of erecting the theatre and supplying the guests with food being borne by the victors. On hearing this noble counsel we were naturally greatly rejoiced, and now preparations for war on a large scale were put in hand. All being completed in a day, the next morning the two villages entered into a most sanguinary battle, which lasted eight hours. One man was killed on each side, but the umpires declared Three Bridges the winner, because their man killed himself with a jingal, whereas the Ten Li village man was really killed by being thrust into a mud-hole by the enemy.

“After this, all was bustle and excitement. Land being valuable, our theatre was soon erected on piles in mid-stream, all our best dresses were taken out and aired, and a play to last three days was rehearsed day and night by us. For myself I played the part of a famous warrior. I wore gorgeous dresses of the Ming Dynasty, with soles to my boots four inches thick, whiskers eighteen inches long, that I could blow straight out in front of my face, and my face was painted vermilion to show my importance.

“It was grand. The first day everything passed off splendidly. I was in my finest heroic vein. The second day I was even better, and the third day I could hardly be heard because of the applause of the Three Bridges people and the vituperations of the low scum from Ten Li village. That night was a landmark in my life. The villagers of Three Bridges made me a hero; I was fÊted everywhere after the discomfited Ten Li folk had departed. Undoubtedly everyone in Three Bridges loved me as a brother, and everyone in Ten Li wanted my blood. Our satisfaction was, however, but short-lived; next day Ten Li made violent war against us. I say ‘us’ because I had now grown to love the people of Three Bridges. Jealousy had aroused the evil passions in Ten Li, and Three Bridges was, I fear, somewhat incapacitated from over-indulgence the previous night. My friends were defeated, Ten Li was victorious, and they dragged our company away as their prize, and, making their own terms, ordered Three Bridges to attend a five days’ performance at the expense of their conquerors. And now another theatre was built, this time over the clay pits, and far more gorgeous in appearance than that of Three Bridges. Rehearsals again occupied our time, and my part was even more heroic than previously. On this occasion I became superhuman; not only did I fight against fearful odds on earth, but I ascended to the skies, and there did battle against demons, foul dragons, and numberless evil spirits, capable of every transformation, all of whom I vanquished eventually. My former friends and admirers eyed these performances sullenly, with rage in their hearts, whereas my previous detractors extolled me to the skies and gave me food and drink till I nearly burst. Three Bridges had ruined itself by war, theatre building, and paying our fees, but Ten Li village must be in debt for all eternity over our performance in their town. This lavish display, far from pleasing their guests, only tended to rouse their most evil feelings, and by the end of the third day of our play my former friends of Three Bridges had become my bitterest enemies. All their spite was vented upon me, for, being the most important actor, I secured the greater proportion of praise from my backers and the maximum of hatred from my enemies.

“The people of Three Bridges were not to be despised as enemies, and after the fifth day of our performance I was suddenly brought down from my exalted position as the idol of Ten Li by being arrested by the village constable on a most serious charge, no less than that of having murdered my honourable father. Iron fetters were put on my legs and arms, I was thrust into a small strong room and closely guarded, and from being the popular idol of the people I suddenly found myself the most despised and execrated of persons. My erstwhile friends of Three Bridges, maddened by jealousy at my performing so well for the people of Ten Li, had concocted a most cruel scheme whereby I should be destroyed. They had produced the skull and dry bones of a certain person whom they claimed to be my father; in the skull there still stuck the remains of a rusty knife thrust through the eye-socket. These bones, they asserted, were found in my father’s grave, and I alone having been present at his demise, was proclaimed a parricide. As a matter of fact my father had died some two years previously in a most pleasant manner, his final end being caused by a fit, induced by an over-indulgence in fat pork and wine. It is true that I alone had been present when he died, but the law required that it should be further proven that those same bones truly belonged to my parent and no other man. While lying in prison awaiting trial, Lung Fook, the juggler and conjurer of our troupe, came to visit me. Having politely inquired after my health and appetite he said:—

“‘This matter, O brother, is most un-mirth-provoking. You will surely suffer the full penalty of a parricide, which is none other than “Ling Chi” or death by a thousand cuts. Let me be in all things your friend. Now it seems to me that you have much money owing you for your performances. It would be but seemly that you should make some will, and whom can you think of more worthy to receive the wealth you no longer desire than I, Lung Fook, your in-every-way bosom friend!’

“I saw the force of Lung Fook’s argument, and told him so, but begged him to explain further how the bones would be proved to belong to my honourable parent.

“‘It is a simple matter,’ replied the juggler. ‘The bones are old and dry, and the test will be by the close affinity of blood for blood. Thus you will be made to gnaw your finger until the blood flows, the blood will then drop on the bones, and if it sinks in, then, indeed, the bones are those of your father; should, however, the blood not soak in, but remain on the surface of the bones, then they are those of a stranger and of no one having any blood-tie with you whatever. Alas! the bones are very dry, and I know any blood will sink into them.’

“‘But,’ I replied, ‘surely this is a very cruel punishment. Come, O friend, find some means of escape for me.’

“‘Indeed! there is none that I know of. Our laws are indeed just, but I think they do not err on the side of severity.’

“‘It seems to me they do,’ I replied, ‘for not only shall I suffer death by a thousand cuts, but my heirs, if over the age of fourteen, have all to suffer death by decapitation, and, alas! dear brother, I have made you my heir.’

“‘Our laws may be severe, perhaps,’ replied he, ‘but surely they are not vindictive, and under the circumstances I decline to receive the legacy.’

“‘That, poor brother, is I fear unavailing, for the intimate friends of a parricide suffer death by strangulation, and all know how dear you have been to me. Yes,’ I concluded, ‘I think, after all, perhaps the punishment is a just one for such an evil person as one who would kill his father, and my death will be all the more bitter to me, knowing that you, my friend, must also suffer with me.’

“At these my words Lung Fook was greatly moved. His anxiety to have me proved innocent became beautiful to witness. He raved against our national penal code, he wept for the tortures I was soon to suffer, and begged and implored me to think of some means whereby the law might be circumvented. I pointed out that the laws were just, that they did not err on the side of severity, and I also discoursed at some length on the painlessness of death by strangulation, provided always that the executioner were a man of experience. I recalled to mind that the executioner of Ten Li was but a youth and somewhat slow-witted, but I trusted that the bystanders would be able to give him helpful advice and suggestions when occasion might arise. Lung Fook now became quite upset, and offered me many taels of silver if I could devise some plan whereby my innocence might be proved. In the tenderest manner I bade him farewell that day and begged him to come next day when I might have thought of some scheme. In the meanwhile I begged him to sleep well, to avoid all worry, and to be certain to bring me money next day.

“Next morning he reappeared greatly agitated, and was much relieved when I told him I had hopes of successfully proving that the bones did not belong to my parent. First, however, I begged him to hand over the money, which he did with some reluctance.

“My plan was this. Lung Fook had one juggling trick in which he put a small boy in a basket and apparently killed him with a sword, anyway blood flowed freely during the performance. I told Lung Fook that he must teach me how to produce this blood and also make it of such a nature that it would not soak into dry bones. He seemed much relieved and departed, having two days in which to experiment and find a blood-like fluid which would not soak in.

“After a day’s absence he returned with a rabbit’s bladder filled with a red fluid. He explained that he had mixed his ordinary fluid used in conjuring tricks with lacquer, that he had tested it on several dry bones, that it absolutely refused to soak in, and so he regarded my life, and incidentally his own, as safe.

“When the trial came on I was led in chains before the magistrate, and innumerable witnesses from Chin Wen Fu testified to the notoriously evil life that I had always lived. Therein I saw the hand of my old enemy the tao-tai, who having heard of my arrest was only too anxious to again get me into his clutches. However, all these witnesses were of no real importance, the great thing was to prove that the bones really belonged to my father. So at length I was taken to a table on which the skull and many other relics rested, and was ordered to bite my thumb until the blood flowed. The bladder containing the liquid was carefully concealed in my hand, and as I pretended to gnaw my flesh I gradually squeezed out a few drops. Soon my hand appeared to be covered with blood, and slowly the drops fell on the bones. Not a particle would soak in. All eyes were eagerly watching, but soon it was evident that I was innocent. My enemies were furious, my friends relieved, and the magistrate had nothing further to do than to acquit me and proclaim me entirely innocent.

“However, thinking my life unsafe, I thought it better to leave Ten Li village at once; so I once more started as an outcast and wandered alone till——”

The sound of wheels cut short Hong’s story, and as the Consul swings through the gates in a dog-cart a small figure can be seen fleeing across the lighted verandah. The amah’s shrill scolding is cut short by two chubby arms being flung round her neck, and any further remarks of hers are smothered by a small boy’s kisses showered on her ugly old parchment-like face.

Before going to sleep Jack tells Dorothy in confidence that he thinks Hong’s next story must be about real fighting, as he has heard up to the point when he gives up being an actor for ever.