"Listen!" said the Dragon, sternly, "and venture not to speak save when I ask thee a question. Yesterday morning, in consequence of thine own caprice in going out unannounced, thy silly shoes and thy pusillanimous petticoat became wet. For this nothing, thou has condemned to death my faithful servant Ly-Chee, who has brought me fresh melons every Tuesday afternoon for thirty years. When others, less inhuman than thou, interceded for his life, thou madest reply, 'We swear, that unless the Golden Dragon himself come down from his altar and beg for this man's life, he shall die!'"
The Emperor groaned, and clawed the carpet in his anguish.
"Therefore, Wah-Song," continued the Dragon, "I am here! I come not to beg, but to command. Dost thou hear me?"
"Ye-ye-yes!" murmured the wretched monarch. "I hear thee, Most Mighty. I—I—didn't know he brought thee melons. I brought thee two dozen pineapples myself, the other day," he added piteously.
"Thou didst!" exclaimed the Golden Dragon, fiercely. "Thou didst, slave! and they were half-rotten. Ha!" and he gave a little jump on the floor, making his glittering tail wave, and his flaming eyes glared yet more fiercely at the unfortunate Wah-Song, who clung yet more closely to the carpet, and drummed on it with his heels in an extremity of fear.
"Listen, now," said the Fiery Idol, "to my commands. Before day-break thou wilt send a free pardon to Ly-Chee, who now lies in the prison of the condemned, expecting to die at sunrise."
"I will! I will!" cried the Emperor.
"Moreover," continued the Dragon, "thou wilt send him, by a trusty messenger, twenty bags of goodly ducats, one for every hour that he has spent in prison."
The Emperor moaned feebly, for he loved his goodly ducats.
"Furthermore, thou wilt make Ly-Chee thy Chief Sweeper for life, with six brooms of gilded straw, with ivory handles, as his yearly perquisite, besides three dozen pairs of scrubbing-shoes; and his son, Chop-Chin, shalt thou appoint as Second Sweeper, to help his father."