His demeanor is that of a bully
stalking about with the traditional chip on his shoulder, daring me to
come and knock it off. Considering the circumstances about us, this is a
wonderfully courageous performance on his part; nothing but his ignorance
of my Smith & Wesson can explain his temerity in assuming a bellicose
attitude with only one man-of-war at his back. Out of consideration for
this ignorance, I studiously avoid interfering with the chip.
At length the river-voyage comes to an end at Wu-chang, on the Poyang
Hoo, when I am permitted to proceed overland with an escort to Kui-kiang.
Spending the last night at a village inn, we pursue our way over awful
bowlder paths next morning, for several miles; over a low mountain-pass
and down the northern slope to a level plain. A towering white pagoda is
observable in the distance ahead; thia the yameni-runner says is
Kui-kiang. At a little way-side tea-house, I find Christmas numbers of
the London Graphic pasted on the walls; yet with all this, so utterly
unreliable has my information heretofore been, and so often have my hopes
and expectations turned out disappointing, that I am almost afraid to
believe the evidence of my own senses. The Graphic pictures are of the
Christmas pantomimes; the good woman of the tea-house points out to me
the tremendous noses, the ear-to-ear mouths, and the abnormal growths of
chin therein depicted, with much amusement; "Fankwae," she says, "te-he,
te-he," apparently fancying them genuine representations of certain types
of that queer, queer people.
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