“Nigger, you go git me de bes’ hoss doctor you kin find!”
§ 99 The Light that Failed
An ambitious Chinaman secured a long time lease on a tiny island on the California coast. Here he built himself a simple shack and here he raised garden-truck. Because of the climate, which was generally damp, and because of the soil and most of all because of the tenant’s industry, the venture prospered. Naturally, when a gentleman in uniform came along one day and suggested him that he should vacate the property and turn it over to the government, the Oriental protested. He wanted to know why Uncle Sam should covet his tiny possession.
The visitor said to him:
“Well, you see, John, it’s like this: There’s a lot of fog along this coast and Uncle Sam wants to put up a lighthouse here for the benefit of ships. Savee?”
The Chinaman shook his head.
“No glood,” he said. “Lighthouse no glood for flog.”
“What makes you think so?” asked the government agent.
“Listlen,” said the Chinaman, “ ’fore I clumb here I live long-time in Oakland, acloss Bay from San F’lisco. Muchee flog there. Uncle Slam plut up lighthouse and flog-whistle and flog-bell. Lighthouse he shine, flog-whistle he blow, flog-bell he ling—an’ damn flog he come just same!”