“The story of Lao Ting—” began Kai Lung.
“Enough,” replied Hwa-mei, listening to a distant sound. “Already has this one strayed beyond her appointed limit. May your virtuous cause prevail!”
With this auspicious message the maiden fled, leaving Kai Lung more than ever resolved to conduct the enterprise in a manner worthy of her high regard.
On the following day, at the appointed hour, Kai Lung was again led before the Mandarin Shan Tien. To the alert yet downcast gaze of the former person it seemed as if the usually inscrutable expression of that high official was not wholly stern as it moved in his direction. Ming-shu, on the contrary, disclosed all his voracious teeth without restraint.
“Calling himself Kai Lung,” began the detestable accuser, in a voice even more repulsive than its wont, “and claiming—”
“The name has a somewhat familiar echo,” interrupted the Fountain of Justice, with a genial interest in what was going on, rare in one of his exalted rank. “Have we not seen the ill-conditioned thing before?”
“He has tasted of your unutterable clemency in the past,” replied Ming-shu, “this being by no means his first appearance thus. Claiming to be a story-teller—”
“What,” demanded the enlightened law-giver with leisurely precision, “is a story-teller, and how is he defined?”
“A story-teller, Excellence,” replied the inscriber of his spoken word, with the concise manner of one who is not entirely grateful to another, “is one who tells stories. Having on—”
“The profession must be widely spread,” remarked the gracious administrator thoughtfully. “All those who supplicate in this very average court practise it to a more or less degree.”