SERVANTS AND TRADESMEN
On your first arrival at an out-port, and as you are crossing the pontoon which leads from the steamer to the bund, a most beaming celestial meets you and presents an open letter, which runs something like this:—
"I hereby certify that the bearer, Lao San, was my boy for eight months, and I found him honest and willing.
Tom Jones."
The celestial smirks and jabbers something in pidgin English, which not being able to understand you answer with a grunt and pass on.
The celestial says, "All right, savez, can do," and vanishes.
Reaching your quarters, you find two or three more beaming natives, also armed with letters of recommendation, probably borrowed for the occasion, and who severally inform you "My b'long welly good boy."
These letters of recommendation become kinds of heirlooms, and as foreigners seldom know the correct names of their Chinese servants, they are, for a consideration, handed about from one to the other when seeking employment.
You must have a boy anyhow, and are just beginning to inspect the candidates when a friend suddenly turns up.
"I'm awfully sorry, old man, I couldn't manage to come and meet you on board, but the steamer arrived earlier than was expected, so I came straight on here, and knowing you would require a boy, brought one along who wants a job. I don't know anything about him, but he says he's all right, and they are mostly pretty much alike. Anyhow, you might give him a trial, and if he doesn't suit, just kick him out."