Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/187

RV 182 (LI PO) As he rubbed his head, he muttered, "I will wash my mouth in the river and pillow my head on a rock by the running stream."

The blow had sobered him slightly. Where was Ho Chih-chang? He was gone, gone! Li Po sat up and wept. His boon companion was gone. What matter that he was a poet? What matter that the moon was with him? He wanted Ho Chih-chang, he made such an excellent pillow.

Abruptly, he rose to his feet. The floor was no longer comfortable. He pounded on the table with his fists, making such a commotion that the bleary-eyed tavern-keeper appeared from behind a curtain.

He yawned, but he managed to remain composed. He had an eye to business. Never had he had so good a customer as Li Po.

"What would you have?"

"Warm wine and Ho Chih-chang!"

"What's that?"

"My friend. I was sleeping, with my head pillowed on his stomach. I awakened violently. He had disappeared. What have you done with him?"

"Nothing, my friend. I have been sleeping."

"A good shop-keeper never sleeps."

"That is true, but my eyes are not good shop-keepers. Since your friend is lost, you need not pay for the wine."

"Good, I shall drink till he returns."

"Without paying?" quavered the tavern-keeper.

"I've paid with my friend. Bring him back, recover RV 182 (182)