Of course, Fin Fan’s heart beat high with happiness when Tian Shan walked into her father’s store; but to gratify some indescribable feminine instinct she simply nodded coolly in his direction, and continued what might be called a flirtation with Wong Ling, who had that morning presented her with the first Chinese lily of the season and a box of the best preserved ginger.
Tian Shan sat himself down on a box of dried mushrooms and glowered at his would-be rival, who, unconscious of the fact that he was making a third when there was needed but a two, chattered on like a running stream. Thoughtlessly and kittenishly Fin Fan tossed a word, first to this one, and next to that; and whilst loving with all her heart one man, showed much more favor to the other.
Finally Tian Shan arose from the mushrooms and marched over to the counter.
“These yours?” he inquired of Wong Ling, indicating the lily and the box of ginger.
“Miss Fin Fan has done me the honor of accepting them,” blandly replied Wong Ling.
“Very good,” commented Tian Shan. He picked up the gifts and hurled them into the street.
A scene of wild disorder followed. In the midst of it the father of Fin Fan, who had been downtown, appeared at the door.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“Oh, father, father, they are killing one another! Separate them, oh, separate them!” pleaded Fin Fan.
But her father’s interference was not needed. Wong Ling swerved to one side, and falling, struck the iron foot of the stove. Tian Shan, seeing his rival unconscious, rushed out of the store.