“Nothing. They have sent the same letter fifteen times before. Have you not yourself showed it to me?”
“True!” The young man eyed the Chinese merchant furtively. He had a proposition to make and he was pondering whether or not the time was opportune.
“How is your wife?” he inquired solicitously—and diplomatically.
Hom Hing shook his head mournfully.
“She[“She] seems less every day,” he replied. “Her food she takes only when I bid her and her tears fall continually. She finds no pleasure in dress or flowers and cares not to see her friends. Her eyes stare all night. I think before another moon she will pass into the land of spirits.”
“No!” exclaimed the young man, genuinely startled.
“If the boy not come home I lose my wife sure,” continued Hom Hing with bitter sadness.
“It’s not right,” cried the young man indignantly. Then he made his proposition.
The Chinese father’s eyes brightened exceedingly.
“Will I like you to go to Washington and make them give you the paper to restore my son?” cried he. “How can you ask when you know my heart’s desire?”