“I imagine it will be a good while, however, before we get to the point where rats and mice are served in our restaurants,” said Tom, with a grimace.
“Yes,” rejoined the captain, “we’ll probably draw the line there and never step over it. But you’ll have a chance pretty soon to sample Chinese cooking, and if you ask no questions and eat what is set before you, you will probably find it surprisingly good. ‘What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over,’ you know. And when you come to the desserts, you will find that there are no finer sweetmeats in the world than those served at Chinese tables.”
“Another thing that seems queer to us Western people,” said the doctor, “is their idea of the seat of intellect. We regard it as the head. They place it in the stomach. If the Chinaman gets off what he thinks to be a witty thing, he pats his stomach in approval.”
“I suppose when his head is cut off, he still goes on thinking,” grinned Tom.
“That wouldn’t phase a Chinaman for a minute,” answered the doctor. “He’d retort by asking you if you’d go on thinking if they cut you in half.”
“Then, if you wanted to praise a Chinese author, I suppose, instead of alluding to his ‘bulging brow,’ it would be good form to refer to his ‘bulging stomach,’” laughed Ralph.
“Gee,” put in Tom, “if that were so, I’ve seen some fat people in the side shows at the circus that would have it all over Socrates.”
“There’s one thing,” went on the doctor, “where they set us an example that we well might follow, and that is in the tolerance they have for the religious views of other people. There isn’t any such thing as persecution or ostracism in China on the score of religious belief. There are three or four religions and all are viewed with approval and kindly toleration. A man, for instance, will meet several strangers in the course of business or of travel, and they will fall into conversation. It is etiquette to ask the religious belief of your new acquaintances, so our Chinaman asks the first of them: ‘Of what religion are you?’ ‘I practice the maxims of Confucius,’ is the response. ‘Very good, and you?’ turning to the second. ‘I am a follower of Lao-tze.’ The third answers that he is a Buddhist, and the first speaker winds up the conversation on this point by shaking hands—with himself—and genially remarking: ‘Ah, well, we are all brothers after all.’”
“They certainly have the edge on us there,” remarked Bert. “I wish we had a little of that spirit in our own country. We could stand a lot more of it than we have.”
“Outside of the question of religion, however,” went on the doctor, “we might think that they carry politeness too far to suit our mode of thinking. If you should meet a friend and ask after the health of his family, you would be expected to say something like this: ‘And how is your brilliant and distinguished son, the light of your eyes and future hope of your house, getting on?’ To this your friend would probably reply: ‘That low blackguard and detestable dog that for my sorrow is called my son is in good health, but does not deserve that your glorious highness should deign to ask about him.’”