“Six mace, two——” bellowed the third, trying to get his boat nearer.
Tsang paid no attention to them and the price was howled lower and lower.
“Five mace,” yelped the first, and without a word Tsang jumped into his boat. The Breton and the wife sat down in the middle of the sampan and drew over them the curved bamboo roof. As the boat shot out into the canal it was followed by a vituperative volley from the others.
Tsang stood by the boatman urging him on.
“There is a riot,” he whispered, “and all the gates have been closed except the Water-gate. But don’t think we are going to pay just to go there. Only when we——”
From distant streets came cries:
“Down with the Water-gate! Down with the Water-gate!”
The Breton and the wife sat in the darkness under the bamboo canopy. Neither had spoken nor ceased to smile. Never in their lives had they thought of anything so happy as this night journey.
The Water-gate loomed up before Tsang and the boatman; they could see the lanterns swaying on the eaves of its guardhouse. Plainly now came the cries:
“Down with the Water-gate!”