"From London last, by Suez, Bombay, and Calcutta; to Canton to-morrow, and then up the coast."
"Very good; then we will make the most of our time to-day. Here we are at my office, and this is, of course, your head-quarters. Three o'clock now. I'll just send around and tell old Man Lok to be ready for us, for I am going to give you something you never had—a regular Chinese dinner. The old fellow has some of the best nests I have seen in months, and you shall have trial of the same. Would you like a few fins too, or perhaps a pacu-qui? But I forget; you are not yet up in our style of rations. Never mind; I will show you what we can do."
The rest of the afternoon Jack and I talked about old times. Then we repaired to the restaurant, which he told me was noted for the excellence of Chinese dishes served up in their own peculiar style.
"Up to the chopsticks, Tom? I suppose not, and we must make allowance for you. Man Lok has doubtless provided, for I told him you were a poor Mellican man who did not know much yet. He will have a knife and fork for you."
On the table at my place were a knife and fork, as Jack had promised; at his were the chopsticks, the use of which was a mystery to me then, though subsequently I became expert in managing them. The dinner was a most elaborate one, course succeeding course in great number and variety, all very elegantly served. Many of them were such articles of food as I had never seen, and as to the nature of some I could not even hazard a guess. But I will not describe them at present, excepting a single one.
This was a soup, which made its appearance at, I think, the fifth course. It was rather thick, and having a decidedly gelatinous look and feeling, it might almost have been called a diluted jelly rather than a soup. It was served very hot, and the flavor was excellent. With it were brought small dishes of very peculiar preserves, which I thought the most delicious things in their way that I had ever tasted. Jack said nothing until some little progress had been made with the soup.
"How do you like it, my boy? A twang of Asia clear through, is not there? Recalls all your memories of Lalla Rookh and Sindbad the Sailor, and those other worthies of ancient history, eh?"
"It is certainly delightful," said I; "unlike anything I ever tasted."
"I should think it might be. Precious little of it you ever see outside the Flowery Land. And what is more, there is not, as I believe, another man even in all China who can match old Man Lok in serving it. This is the famous bird's-nest soup, about as much a peculiarity and a glory of China as the Great Wall, and I was determined that you should make your acquaintance with it under the auspices of Man Lok, the great high-priest, the Soyer, of bird's nest."
"But what is it, Jack? What are you talking about? How can you eat grass, and sticks, and feathers, and leaves, to say nothing of mud? for those make up birds' nests in general. I must say I never heard of their being used for food."