"Not at all," I replied, laughing. "Delighted to see you, captain."
"So am I, bedad! Why, the steamer was crying for ye, and wouldn't steam scarcely, and we declared it was the name did it—Fêng Shui, no less. I am thinking of changing it. I am so!"
"Why, sir? Surely Fêng Shui is no harm?"
"No harm, is it? Bedad, it may mean anything—in China; and as we're Chinese now—a Chinese transport I think I'll make it, bedad!—I'm going to the Consul to report the Kowshing. I never did like the name Fêng Shui—in China. I was told it was unlucky."
"Why? What does it mean?" I asked, as we continued our way.
"Fêng Shui? I told ye it means 'wind and weather,'—but also their influences; things which cannot be exactly understood, but which, like electricity, are evident. In China Fêng Shui generally means a grave."
"That's cheerful, anyway," I muttered.
"And whether the place is 'good' or 'bad' depends very much upon the imagination or estimation of the persons interested. There are 'professors' who profess to understand Fêng Shui, but I needn't say they are mostly humbugs, and only try to make money out of ye. But I think China is getting much wiser, and less conservative in many ways. Ye'll see ladies on bicycles soon—I mean Chinese women; and when ye do, ye may depend the old restrictions are broken away."
"Then the Fêng Shui is doomed, you mean?"
"Yes, it will be; and the steamer must change her name. Look here, Julius, between you and me and the bedpost, the mate and myself have made up our minds to stand the racket for the Company, and chance it. The agent holds off, but I see my way to profit by the fuss."