Here, thought the journalist, before him, smoking a cigarette, sat modern China; in robe and queue, speaking of the future but ridden by the past; using strong words but with no fire, no urge or glow in the voice; as if eager to hope without the substance of hope; at once age and youth, smiling down the weary centuries at himself.
“It has been expressed to me that you are literature man.” Thus Mr. Po.
Brachey's head moved downward.
“That is quite wonderful. If you will tell me the names of certain of your books I will give myself great delight in reading them. I read English like the devil—all the time. I'm crazy about Emerson.”
Brachey led him on. They talked of Russia and England, of the new railways in China, of truculent Japan, of Edison, much of Roosevelt. Mr. Po suggested a walk; and they mounted the city wall, sat on the parapet and talked on; the Chinaman always smiling, nerveless, his calm, easily flowing voice without body or emphasis. Brachey finally succeeded in guiding the man to his own topic, China.
“It puzzles and bewilders,” said Mr. Po. “China must leap like grasshopper over the many centuries. To railways one may turn for beneficent assistance. And also to missionaries.”
“I'm surprised to hear you say that. I supposed all China was opposed to the missionaries.”
“I do not dwell at present time upon their religion practises. That may be all to the good—I can not say. But the domicle of each and every missionary may be termed civilization propaganda center. Here are found books, medicines, lamps. Your eyes have discerned enveloping gloom of Chinese cities by night. Think, I beg of you, what difference it will be when illumination brightens all. Our people do not like these things, it is true. They descend avidly into superstitions. They make a hell of a fuss. But that fuss is growing pain. China must grow, though suffering accumulate and dismay.”
“Come to think of it,” mused Brachey aloud, “superstition isn't stopping the railroads.”
Mr. Po snapped his fingers, smilingly. “A fig and thistle for superstition!” he remarked. “Take good look at the railways! What happened? In every field of China, as you know, stand grave mounds of honorable ancestral worshiping. It will break heart of China to desecrate those grave mounds. It will bring down untold misery upon ancestors. But when they build Hankow-Peking Rahway, very slick speculator employed observation upon surveyors and purchased up claims against railway for bringing misery upon ancestors and sold them to railway company at handsome profit to himself. And, sir, do you know what it set back company to desecrate ancestors of China? It set back twelve dollars per ancestor. And that slick speculator he is now millionaire. He erects imposing house at Shanghai and elaborates dinners to white merchants. It is said that he will soon be compradore and partner in most pretentious English Hong.... No, the superstition will have to go. It will go like the chaff.”