"That is all," declared the voice, pleasantly. "The Chow Ceremonial
says, 'That man is unwise who knowingly throws away precious things.'
And in the Analects we read, 'There is merit in dispatch.'"
Heywood's reply was lost, except the words, "stupid people."
"In every nation," agreed the placid voice. "It is true. What says the
Viceroy of Hupeh: 'They see a charge of bird-shot, and think they are
tasting broiled owl.'--Walk slowly!"
"A safe walk, Your Excellency."
The cymbals struck up, the cavalcade, headed by ragamuffin lictors with
whips, went swaying past the gate. Heywood, when he returned,
was grinning.
"Wonderful old chap!" he exclaimed. "Hates this station, I fancy, much
as we hate it."
"Anything to concern us?" asked Gilly.
"Intimated he could beat me at chess," laughed the young man, "and will
bet me a jar of peach wine to a box of Manila cigars!"
Chantel, from a derisive dumb-show near the window, had turned to waddle
solemnly down the room. At sight of Heywood's face he stopped guiltily.
"Chantel!" All the laughter was gone from the voice and the hard gray
eyes. "Yesterday we humored you tin-soldier fashion, but to-day let's
put away childish things.
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