Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 123: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Worm that Turned untold millions to whom a handful of rice and a corner to lie down in constituted existence. If‘a black fireship, huge and bulky, chanced to arrive at the coal-yards, Tong swiftly betook himself there also. For hours he would then stand patiently with hundreds of his fellows, up to his ankles in the black coaly mud, with the same stolid endurance he had displayed in, trapping water-rats from the sampan’s back window. More often than not after hours of waiting he was turned away; but it also happened oc- casionally that a dirty canvas bag and a brass check with a number were tossed to him, and then he staggered innumerable times with the heavy loaded sack from the coal-heap over a gang-plank to the steamship, knees bent, chest heaving, while the sweat made runnels on his coal-stained cheeks and forehead. Once on board the load was dumped into the insatiable maw of the monster and with a lightened sack he swiftly ran back over another gang-plank only to begin again. He had just finished a loading, but the day was still young. He still panted, and his mouth and nostrils were filled with coaldust, but the few brass coins earned were clutched tightly in his grimy palm—surely a drop of something to drink, a little rice-brandy or tooling, would be well. As he entered the small dram-shop behind the theater his eye lighted on his two intimates+- Houling the porter, a man of middle age, broad of shoulder, short of legs, and Kushan, the rice- cook, a thin, haggard Chinaman with slits of eyes and an unusually long pigtail. They squatted on the ground each with a little green bowl of rice-brandy before him, and Tong joined: them in their crouching posture just as he was, drenched in sweat and black with coal-dust. The tiny room was filled with people back to back, shoulder to shoulder, so that the attendant could scarcely wend his tortuous way without treading on them, while over all rested like a warm haze the reek of humanity and liquor— a curious smell like the fumes of alcohol in a copper kettle. The street without, a glimpse of which was revealed through the half-open door, seemed equally filled with swarming humanity which pressed and shoved in both directions; and if for an instant a gap occurred it was quickly filled by anothet human body; people, people, peo- ple—always people! A curious noise cooked and brooded in this mass; a hum, a clatter, punctuated by piping cries which reminded one of the screams of sea-birds. The porter gazed at Tong’s grimy counte- nance and asked— “The White Devils have again eaten coal?’ gress rejoined Tong laconically. 113 The conversation lapsed and the three re- turned to their material enjoyment while the clatter and cries from the street continued to penetrate through the half-open door. After ten minutes of silent stolidity the rice- cook volunteered— “The White Devils have again discovered coal in the mountains near Fooling.” And he spat on the floor in wrath. His companions regarded him in silence; after a while he added: “They need coolies; province has proclaimed it. always helps the White Devils.” “Who would go?” asked Tong. “In the mountains are only robbers, tigers and demons. It is unsafe.” Kushan slowly nodded his head up and down like an idol. “But they pay, and pay well.” “You will come to grief if you try it,” said Tong. “The mountain spirits are evil; you will lose your ears or eyesight.” Houling the porter regarded Tong with an irritated look. “This is nothing for a rich man like you,” he cried. What right had he to interfere with advice to such as they; he who had a roof over his head every night, and so was immeasurably their superior in wealth? As soon as it fell dark they sought some corner to rest in, some spot where they would not be driven away before the night was half over. They and countless millions slept in dust- heaps, on the steps of temples, with a weary arm stretched under the head for a pillow, a tatter of matting or a bit of rag drawn over the face and eyes, or sometimes under an old bridge amid slimy rat-infested piles. There were thousands who had never passed a night under a roof—who had been born in the open, Tong indeed! But presently the porter’s brow cleared and slowly a smile, or rather a broad grin, spread over his yellow countenance, showing his black stumps of teeth in all their ugliness. The rice- cook gazed at him in amazement—they seldom smiled—and asked the cause of his merriment; but Tong, following the course of the previously suggested idea, interrupted: “The White Devils bore holes in the earth and then suck her life-blood through tubes. They build wagons which run on iron roads and drag away her bowels. And when all is gone, used up, dry, they return to their homes across the sea, rich through the sweat of the coolie! All for them, nothing for us!” “Yes, and they will not even allow us to live or work in their country,” cried Kushan. “fAsk Loo-chang; he has been in the land of the White Devils. And yet they pay good money,” he added with a sigh. the governor of the The governor EOPMIC LOOKS (E@)