They arrived at Kwang-Chin in the small hours of the morning, and Frank could not persuade the fisherman to take him any farther. He was therefore obliged to go ashore and attempt to find a lodging for what remained of the night.
This was no easy matter, for the town appeared to consist of nothing but opium dens. It was an old walled city, the ramparts and gateways of which must have been built centuries before, in the days when China was harassed and ravaged by continual internecine wars. Frank, who did not feel capable of travelling farther that night, decided to wait till morning, when he might be able to find another fisherman who would consent to take him down-stream, probably as far as the main river, if not to Canton itself. In the meantime, he realised that he could do nothing better than snatch a few hours' additional rest, recognising the fact that he would still be called upon to undergo considerable hardships and dangers.
He therefore plucked up courage, and entered the first opium den he came to, in the doorway of which he had observed a light. He found himself in an establishment similar in all respects to that which has already been described as nourishing in the slums of Canton under the proprietorship of Ah Wu. This place, however, was very much dirtier, and--with the exception of Cheong-Chau's brigands--Frank had never seen a more villainous collection of men than the habitués of the place, who were sprawled in all manner of attitudes upon the various couches. And then he was astounded, and at the same time considerably alarmed, to observe that several of these coolies were wearing scarlet coats, similar in all respects to those worn by the bandits. But, once inside, he could not very well beat a hasty retreat. He summoned to his aid all his presence of mind and addressed himself to the proprietor, a venerable-looking man with gold-rimmed spectacles and a white goat's-beard.
"I desire, for a few hours," said the boy, speaking in his best idiomatic Cantonese, "a couch upon which to sleep. I am a poor man," he added, "but I will pay you to the best of my ability."
"You will not smoke opium?" asked the host, opening his eyes in surprise.
"I have not the habit," said Frank.
The proprietor adjusted his spectacles upon the very tip of his nose and regarded the boy from over the top of the glasses.
"How very remarkable!" he observed. "Every man, however, can please himself. You may certainly sleep here. My charge is forty cash."
Now forty cash is the equivalent of two-pence, and this does not appear to the European mind to be an exorbitant charge for a night's lodging. But Frank Armitage knew the Chinese character. He had a part to act, and he knew how to act it. He remembered that a Chinaman loves a bargain.
"I will give you thirty cash," said he.