For my services as substitute professor in the college I received one hundred and twenty-five dollars (gold) plus my room and board and this, together with the railway and steamship passes I obtained, made the month I spent in Tangshan a very profitable one. I prized more highly, however, the unique experience of living with a high-class Chinese family and the insight I had of Chinese home life. But above all I value the good and loyal Chinese friends I made.
ADRIFT IN THE CHINESE EMPIRE
President Young accompanied me from Tangshan to Peking, to which latter city he made frequent trips in connection with his position as member of the Imperial Government Boards of Education and Transportation. I had planned to take the slow train from Peking to Hankow, which runs only in the day time and goes on a siding for the night. This train would leave at eight the following morning and, as we arrived in Peking in the afternoon, I had the evening to spend there.
All American-educated Chinese are known as "returned students" and about a dozen of these fellows were guests of President Young at dinner at the Wagon Lits Hotel to meet me. As they were all graduates of American colleges and spoke English they employed this language exclusively, when they were together, in order to keep in practice and also to cement this common bond which existed amongst them. Mr. Ponson Chu, one of the number, displayed a Psi Upsilon Fraternity pin on the breast of his Oriental costume and this emblem immediately attracted my attention, for I was a member of the same society. Chu was from the Yale chapter with the class of 1909 and he and I became brothers at once.
After dinner we rented rickshaws for the evening and the Chinese started out to "show me the town." This was a rare opportunity; for it gave me access to places of which, alone, I should not have known the existence. We hopped into our rickshaws and were on our way. We passed the Legation compounds, went through the massive and imposing Chien-Mien Gate and in a few minutes were lost in the swarms of roving humanity in the Chinese City. We found our way through the narrow streets crowded with vendors, wrangling merchants, camels and what not. Finally we came to our first stop, a bohemian café—to describe the place in western parlance. This café, which represented the best thing of its kind in the capital, was a quaint old building composed of several rooms in each of which were a few tables. We seated ourselves at three of these tables and ordered refreshments—which consisted of tea and dried watermelon seeds. Shortly, a bevy of young Chinese girls, employed by the institution, came in and sat with us, partook of the food and engaged in the conversation so far as their limited mentalities would permit. These dainty little creatures, ranging in age from twelve to sixteen years, were neatly dressed in tight pajama-like garments. Their hair was greased and cut in such fantastic designs and they were so mentally deficient and so bashful that it was hard for me to realise they were human beings. One of our number put in an order for a Chinese orchestra and in a few minutes an old fellow appeared with an instrument somewhat similar to a violin. This musical contrivance had but one string. The sounds it emitted, after its operator got into action, were enough to drive the most placid man insane. To complete the musical bedlam a confusion of discordant tones was added by the voices of several female singers who rendered a number of selections at the request of one of our party.
We visited several establishments of this sort and in one of them I was treated to the sight of seeing two Manchu Princesses accompanied by their eunuchs. These women entered with their male attendants, hanging languidly on their arms. The women were tall, graceful creatures—each smoking a cigarette, and were dressed in beautiful one-piece robes of rich blue colour. Their hair was done up in the characteristic Manchu fashion on a framework extending from the rear of the head. They were beautiful women.
The following morning I was at the station ready to board the slow train through China to Hankow. As there were no dining arrangements on these trains I came fully provided with provisions. Extending from each coat pocket was a loaf of French bread; canned goods disfigured the symmetry of my trousers in front and two bottles of beer added to my unshapely appearance in the rear. Foreigners very seldom take this slow train and the passenger list consists exclusively of natives who are making short trips.