At times Johnny had lived near great forests. These he had explored with interest. He had followed mysterious rivers and searched hidden places in wild mountain ranges. Here he explored Chinatown.
And such a fascinating place this Chinatown was—especially the Chamber of Commerce to which, from all over the world, rich Chinamen came that they might trade silk and tea, quaint Chinese toys, teak wood boxes and a thousand other articles of trade, for wheat and typewriters, teaspoons and automobiles.
There were strange and fascinating things in the great hall of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce—a lamp made of three thousand pieces of porcelain, banners old as the hills from which they came, and brass dragons that seemed much older.
Johnny was deep in his contemplation of these things when the little man who called himself Tao Sing said, “Now then, you shall see!” He heaved a sigh. He snapped his old-fashioned watch shut. “Now we take it out of here. It is done. Your thoughts, how shall we say—they are pickled. They will keep a long, long time.
“But wait!” He held up a finger. “You shall see these so wonderful thoughts.
“See.” He took a small instrument from a shelf on the wall. “I put it in here. I wind this so.” A clicking sound followed. “I press this so. Now. Now! You look.” His tone rose as he pointed to the top of the instrument resembling a high power microscope. “You look! You see!”
Johnny did look, and what he saw struck him dumb. There, passing slowly before his eyes were words, faintly illuminated words. Strangest of all, he realized as he read that these words represented his thoughts of a few moments before.
The words passed slowly. There was ample time for reading every one. Yet, so astonished was he that for a time he did not read. When at last he got a grip on himself he realized that here recorded, apparently for all time, just as a moving picture is recorded, were his least and most trifling thoughts of a few moments before. The buzzing fly was there, and Whong Lee’s wrapping of a package. And, sadly jumbled with the rest, was his thinking through of that song.
There came a click louder than the rest. The space beneath his eyes went blank. The show was over.
“You see!” cried the little man. “I have your thoughts. They are recorded. They will keep a long, long time.”