Achmed Abdullah

“ And I will not sully my honour."
"No?" asked Yat in a flat, still voice.
"No!" thundered Kang Kee. "But you, poet, can do as your wanton fancy bids you. You can pick the bud if your hands are skilful. You can cause them who refused me with contumely to lose face. By the same token I shall gain face. And I shall help you!"
"But—I am a poor student." Suddenly Chi Kun-yi was becoming a little shy.
"Killing is my business, and it pays," came the ready rejoinder, "and I shall fill your lap with fifteen times fifteen bundles of minted gold. I myself shall dower the bride—your bride, poet! Come!" ”

“ Down there is Pell Street—Chinatown. The reek and maze of it, despised, gently pitied by our American friends. But there are women in Chinatown. Women and girls of our own race, Yat! Scented buds, black-eyed, black-haired. Buds of rose and jessamine and precious purple orchid spotted with tawny orange. And I shall go there. I shall pick the prettiest bud and wear it in my cap in sign of triumph and conquest! ”

“ It brushed through the ancient, coiling streets with pastel shades of pink and sky-blue and delicate green; putting a tender, nostalgic bloom on the potted azalea in the second story window of Carnahan's Hotel for gents only; deepening the shiny lac of the rubber plant that spiked its broad leaves in the shop of Mike Rapotto, the pork butcher; showering the steel of the Elevated structure with silvery moon dust; mirroring the dance of stars and fleecy clouds in the pot-bellied, bronze-topped jars filled with crimson and purple water that announced an old-world apothecary's trade ”

“ The wedding of Lin Hsu to pretty little fifteen-year-old Wuh Wang was a social event of the purest water, uniting two respectable Canton clans one of which, the Sungs, had always earned decent livelihood by catering to the wants of the human body, the other by doing away with the latter when its owner had become persona non grata with the leading citizens of the community. ”

“ He is a hatchetman, killing much, thus earning a noble wage, and used to the very best. And tonight he marries Sung Pu-Lu's oldest daughter, Wuh Wang, that charming and delicate cherry blossom. Thus we must make the supper worthy of their exalted palates and those of the many guests whom they have invited. All the Sung clan will be there, and also Kang Kee, a great hatchetman from San Francisco and friend to Lin Hsu. Specially he came to New York, for the wedding—and the feast! ”

“ Her raven tresses are female snakes. Her feet are golden lilies. Her little white hands? By Buddha and Buddha! Her little white hands—soon to embrace the greasy neck of Lin Hsu——"
"Who is your friend," suggested Yat, speaking for the first time since the poet had refused to go home.
"Who, of course, is my very good friend," the hatchetman echoed with a murderous look. "And yet"—again he turned to Chi Kun-yi and gave another ruffianly wink—"if a poet, young, handsome, and a Manchu, would come to me and say: 'Thus and thus you have lost face. ”

“ Tiny, dainty, perfumed, rose-red buds—such as——"
"The little bride?" Chi Kun-yi asked in a very low, a very gentle voice.
"Yes," came the hushed reply, accompanied by a ruffianly wink and cough. "Wuh Wang, the daughter of Sung Pu-Lu, the greengrocer! Tonight she will become united in love bonds to Lin Hsu, my New York comrade."
"But," the poet dropped his voice yet lower, "you are——"
"Lin Hsu's best friend? To be sure. But—" Once more he took the youth in his bear-like embrace. "Poet! Manchu! Can I trust you?" ”

“ Yes!" laughed Yat. "It is easy to talk of the far places. But this is New York."
Chi Kun-yi brought his fist down on the table so that the ink-wells danced.
"Hush!" he said. "We be of the black-haired race, you and I, and these people, these Americans who give us of their stored wisdom without grudging the price, are of another. It is their wish that race should not mingle with race in bondage of love. And this wish is shared by us of China, be we beady-eyed Cantonese mud turtles or"—complacently—"Pekingese patricians, iron-capped Manchu princes of blue blood and rather gorgeous ancestry. ”

“ Also poetic!" dryly cut in his friend Yat. "Only," addressing the Californian, "why, loving her, are you willing to give her up? Why do you not pick the bud yourself?"
The hatchetman slapped him mightily on the shoulder. "A logical question!" he exclaimed. "A most just question! Doubtless you are a student of forensic wisdom, and I shall answer truthfully. Poet," he turned to Chi Kun-yi, "I cannot make her mine. For these people here—Sung Pu-Lu, his wife, his toothless grandmother, his objectionable mother-in-law, and many cackling aunts—why, even Lin Hsu, who is my friend—they thrust me out!" ”

“ He raised his glass to the Californian. "May you live a hundred years!"
"And may you live long enough to be present at my funeral ceremonies!" replied the hatchetman; and then, as the door opened and Chi Kun-yi entered, accompanied by Yat: "I have a little surprise for you. This—" sweeping a bony hand toward the Manchu, "is a personal friend of mine."
"A friend—" stammered the restaurant keeper, to be quickly silenced by the hatchetman's foot underneath the table.
"A dear friend," he continued. "A student at the university of the white barbarians! ”

“ A poet! A student! A gentleman, and"—clenching his fists and dancing away from the other in a feline manner he had learned from his American athlete friends—"a swashbuckler! A man who loves a clashing of blades, a crunching of solid bodies! ”