Chang Foo's was just a tea
merchant's shop, innocuous and innocent enough in its appearance,
blandly so indeed, and that was all--outwardly; but Jimmie Dale, as he
reached his destination, experienced the first sensation of uplift he
had known that night, and this from what, apparently, did not in the
least seem like a contributing cause.
"Luck! The blessed luck of it!" he muttered grimly, as he surveyed
the sight-seeing car drawn up at the curb, and watched the passengers
crowding out of it to the ground. "It wouldn't have been as easy to fool
old Chang as it was that fellow back at the Dragon--and, besides, if I
can work it, there's a better chance this way of getting out alive."
The guide was marshalling his "gapers"--some two dozen in all, men and
women. Jimmie Dale unostentatiously fell in at the rear; and, the guide
leading, the little crowd passed into the tea merchant's shop. Chang
Foo, a wizened, wrinkled-faced little Celestial, oily, suave, greeted
them with profuse bows, chattering the while volubly in Chinese.
The guide made the introduction with an all-embracing sweep of his hand.
"Chang Foo--ladies and gentlemen," he announced; then held up his hand
for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said impressively, "this is one
of the most notorious, if not THE most notorious dive in Chinatown, and
it is only through special arrangement with the authorities and at great
expense that the company is able exclusively to gain an entree here for
its patrons.
Pages:
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208