The next day, Hing Fai, when going to his business house in the town, observed the grey iron building of the foreign devil. As the horrid Wang had implied, the structure was growing to an inordinate height. It began to rear a sharp-pointed tower above the house of Hing Fai—that is to say, far higher than the roof of Hing Fai’s residence, and so lofty that its pointed spire intervened between Hing Fai’s residence and the hills at the back of the town.
Hing Fai certainly thought his good fortune was likely to be seriously affected by this building; but being a just man, he was not anxious to hastily jump at a conclusion and lay the blame of his recent losses on the Mission Station. However, that veiled hint of the beggar’s still stuck in his mind, and on reaching his office he found that one of his most trusted clerks had absconded with some nine hundred taels. The amount of money lost was not excessive, but still it had an effect on Hing Fai, considering his losses of the previous day. Business was carried on as usual for some days, and Hing Fai was still undecided as to whether the foreign joss-house was working him evil or not. Still the corrugated iron edifice grew under the Rev. Jones’ direction, and the despicable Wang had for days lain hidden from view, advancing no further theories. By everyone in the town it was understood that the missionaries had come for their own good. No one was such a fool as to think that these people worked for nothing; but as workers they were entitled to whatever they earned—that was only justice. Now it occurred to Hing Fai that possibly the foreigners were seeking to get influence on their side; but how could it possibly benefit them to injure his trade? Hing Fai possessed the ordinary amount of contempt for foreigners that all Chinese have, but he decided to visit the Rev. Jones and in a Chinese roundabout way try to find out if he really intended to do injury to his business. It would never occur to a Chinaman to say, “Why do you build so high a house? Do you intend by so doing to overwhelm my house, and so cause my downfall?” No, a Chinaman would act differently.
Thus he called at the house of the Rev. Jones and the proper salutations were gone through. Hing Fai kindly made inquiries as to the Rev. Jones’ reverend father, his grandfather, their health, their ages, the age of the Rev. Jones, his health, his business, and the prospects of the rice crops. The Rev. Jones had a good knowledge of the vernacular, but he was completely mystified as to the reason for this visit. Hing Fai then talked of towns, of dwellings and houses, and after much circumlocution touched on the new building of the mission.
“Why do you build this tall grey metal building?” said Hing Fai, “and for what purpose?”
“It is for a house of worship—in fact, a small temple,” replied the Rev. Jones.
“And you are building a sharp-pointed tower?”
“Yes; it is a spire,” replied the missionary.
“Do you store valuables there, or is it a place of refuge?” inquired the Chinaman.
“No,” replied the missionary, “we use it for no purpose.”
“But it costs money to build,” interjected Hing Fai.