Part 52 (1/2)

”Oh, all right. Where's the restaurant?”

”Nex' stleet,” said Ching; and after a few minutes he turned into a showy-looking eating-house, where his blue silk gown and long nails seemed to command the most profound respect from the attendants; and where, after laying down the law very stringently to Ching, that we were to have neither dog, cat, nor rat, we resigned ourselves to our fate, and ate birds'-nest soup, shark-fin, and a variety of what Barkins called messes, with mids.h.i.+pmen appet.i.tes.

Ching smiled, and seemed to be very proud of our performance.

”You all eat dlink velly much,” he said, as we gave up, defeated. ”You all velly quite full?” he said, rubbing his hands carefully, so as not to injure his long nails.

”Yes, full up, and the hatches battened down,” cried Barkins. ”Now then, ask for the bill. How much apiece?”

Ching smiled and nodded his head.

”You come have bleakfast 'long o' Ching. Ching velly glad to see you; Ching pay.”

”What? nonsense!” cried Smith, while we others stared.

”Yes; Ching plenty money. Captain gave Ching plenty plize-money; make him velly happy to see young offlicer to bleakfast.”

”Oh, but we can't let him pay for us, Smithy,” cried Barkins.

”No, of course not,” we chorussed.

”Ching velly much hurt you want to pay,” he said, with dignity.

”But--” I cried.

”You ask Ching bleakfast like Chinese genelman another time, make Ching velly glad. Come along, makee haste, see gland show.”

”But the bill isn't paid,” I cried.

”Ching pay long time 'go,” he said, rising; and there was nothing for it but to follow him out and along three or four streets to where there was a dense crowd in front of a gateway in a high mud wall.

There were some soldiers there too, and Ching walked up full of importance, showed them some kind of paper, when one, who appeared to be their officer, spoke to those under him, and they cleared a way for us to pa.s.s to the gate.

Here Ching knocked loudly, and the gate was opened by another soldier; the paper was shown; and an important-looking official came up, looked at us, and made way for us to enter.

”It's all right,” said Smith. ”Ching knows the manager. It will be a private box.”

The official pointed to our left, and Ching led the way behind a kind of barricade where there were seats erected, and, selecting a place, he smilingly made us sit down.

”Ching know gleat mandalin,” he said. ”Askee let come see gland show.”

”But what's it going to be?” I asked, as I looked curiously round the square enclosure surrounded by a high wall, and with seats and pens on three sides. ”I thought we were coming to a theatre!”

”No,” said Ching, smiling. ”Velly gland show; wait.”

We waited, and saw that the s.p.a.ce in front of us was neatly sanded, that posts stood up here and there. In other places there were cross bars, and in two there were ropes hanging.

”I know!” cried Barkins; ”he needn't make such a jolly mystery of it.

It's Chinese athletic sports. Look, there's the band coming.”