All the same, the old man was keen on his money, very keen; and that's
what I can't understand. I heard he saved a good deal before he died, but his
nephew has got all that now; and the old man's gone back to China to be buried.
He kept the big upper room, where his best customers gathered, as neat as a new
pin. In one corner used to stand Fung-Tching's Joss--almost as ugly as Fung-
Tching--and there were always sticks burning under his nose; but you never
smelt 'em when the pipes were going thick. Opposite the Joss was Fung-Tching's
coffin. He had spent a good deal of his savings on that, and whenever a new man
came to the Gate he was always introduced to it. It was lacquered black, with
red and gold writings on it, and I've heard that Fung-Tching brought it out all
the way from China. I don't know whether that's true or not, but I know that,
if I came first in the evening, I used to spread my mat just at the foot of it.
It was a quiet corner you see, and a sort of breeze from the gully came in at
the window now and then. Besides the mats, there was no other furniture in the
room--only the coffin, and the old Joss all green and blue and purple with age
and polish.
Fung-Tching never told us why he called the place "The Gate of a Hundred
Sorrows.
Pages:
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800