Page:Leaves from my Chinese Scrapbook - Balfour, 1887.djvu/202

 "Nay," said the old gentleman, "that place is far too dirty; your worship can certainly never sit there."

"If that's all," replied Chang, "I can sit upon a bit of carpet; so don't you trouble yourself about me."

Just then his servants came back, carrying all the materials for a luxurious picnic. A piece of cloth was spread upon the ground, and Chang and two or three of his friends, who had now joined him, squatted down and began to play at gamble-fingers, making a most intolerable noise. Chang enjoyed the whole thing immensely, and stared with delight at the old gentleman, who sat scowling helplessly by. Then a vile idea entered his wicked head.

"Here, you old idiot," he roared, with his mouth full of meat and his face all flushed with wine; "you're not worth a place in the corner of my eye, and yet you seem to know something about flowers. Take a cup of wine, and let us drink together!"

"Drink it yourself," said the old gentleman haughtily; "I never touch wine."

"Look here," continued Chang, too tipsy to notice the slight, "I have taken rather a fancy to this garden of yours; what do you say to selling it?"

"Sell my garden!" shrieked the old man, as a pang of rage and terror shot through his heart; "why, it's my very life; you don't know what you're asking. Sell my garden! No, Sir; I will not sell it. I tell you my garden is my life, and I will never part with it."

"Your life, indeed!" retorted Chang scornfully. "Look here; I mean to buy it, so you had better make up your mind to sell at once. And I'll tell you what; as you have nowhere else to live, I'll buy you into the bargain,