"Seems sleepy enough," answered Geoffrey.
"Oh, here! these are just English warehouses and consulates. They're always asleep. But you come with me and see them dance the Chonkina."
Geoffrey started at this echo of his own thoughts, but he said,—
"I must be getting back; my wife will be anxious."
"Not yet, not yet. It will be all over in half an hour, and it's worth seeing. I am just going to the club to find a fellow who said he'd show me the ropes."
Geoffrey allowed himself to be persuaded. After all he was not expected home so immediately. It was many years since he had visited low and disreputable places. They were Bad Form, and had no appeal for him. But the strangeness of the place attracted him, and a longing for the first glimpse behind the scenes in this inexplicable new country.
Chonkina! Chonkina!
Why shouldn't he go?
He was introduced to Wigram's friend, Mr. Patterson, a Scotch merchant of Nagasaki, who lurched out of the club in his habitual Saturday evening state of mellow inebriation.
They called for three rickshaws, whose runners seemed to know without instructions whither they had to go.