And now for Charley, whom I have kept talking pigeon-English to Akong
all this time. Charley was the son of an old friend, chaplain to the
British consulate at one of the coast ports; his mother dying, Charley
was to have been sent home to relatives in England, but I had prevailed
upon his father to let the boy, now between twelve and fourteen years
old, make me a visit before his final departure.
And now for the conspiracy:
"Chin-chin (how do you do), Akong?" said I.
"What is it, Charley? Out with it, my boy; some mischief, I know."
Akong gave a chuckle and a muttered "hi-yah," and Charley proceeded to
explain.
"Well Cha,"--the Chinamen called me Cha-tsze and the boy had
abbreviated it to Cha,--"Akong says that he has a boat going up to the
tea country to-morrow or next day, and wants me to go with him; may I?"
[Illustration: THE BARBER.]
Charley knew that I could refuse him nothing, but the trip of several
hundred miles into a district rarely, if ever, visited by foreigners,
involved more of a risk than I cared to assume. Charley seeing that I
looked unusually solemn, turned to Akong for support.
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