We bore with muddle and confusion and fatigue for some seven months, longing to be able to dismiss her, but uneasy at the notion of her being adrift so far from home. We might have spared ourselves, as it so often happens, for she came one day to tell me, with a proud toss of the head, that she had found another place that would suit her better.
So she went, leaving us thankful to escape from her on any terms.
Then we tried a Jap, who was also unsuccessful, and we returned to an American girl. This time we were more fortunate; she was a middle-aged woman, capable and willing, and fortunately also fond of reading; so that we were able, by lending her plenty of books, to keep the effects of the loneliness at bay for some time.
She thoroughly enjoyed all the most up-to-date books, and we often laughed among ourselves at the comicalness of Sarah Grand, Grant Allen, Ibsen, and even Mrs. Humphry Ward in the kitchen. She had decided views about all she read, and had, indeed, the intention, so she told us, of writing something for the public herself when she could get leisure. However, this peaceful time came also to an end. In eight months or so she wearied of the loneliness and wanted to return to town and her friends.
Our next fate was a German woman. I believe she was a little out of her mind; she certainly nearly drove us out of ours. She was an enormous, coarse-looking woman, and often told us how she had been a keeper in one of the large State asylums for many years; and, oh, how we pitied those poor lunatics at her mercy!
My husband was ill with an abscess in the throat while she was with us, and for some wicked reason of her own, whenever anything was put on the stove, such as beef tea or hot water for poultices, she regularly took it off again as soon as we left the kitchen.
Finally we telephoned our distress to our friend in town, and he advised a Chinaman. We agreed, and by the evening train out came a bright, smiling little man called Wing Long, and we found at once comfort and peace.
He was a beautiful cook, careful and economical, and very proud of making all his dainty cakes and sweets for much less than we could have bought them in town.
In the evenings, when we were all quietly reading, he would come in suddenly, carrying two big dishes piled up with different dainties, saying, “Coss one dollar in San Miguel, makee him fifty cents here,” and plump them down in the middle of the table for us to admire. If friends were coming to supper, he would work so hard, and would make innumerable dishes and dainties that I had not dreamt of ordering, and when the evening arrived, would come bustling in with all these grand “plats” till we could hardly keep from smiling at the grand show. His idea was not so much hospitality, I fear, as a great desire to make an impression upon strangers of the grand way in which we lived. He would say privately afterwards, “Dey no see notings likie dat, dey no eatie such our dinner; oh, no!”
One drawback to all his virtues there had to be, of course. He had told me, as the months passed and he still remained with us, that his friends in Chinatown were much surprised; for, he said, looking intently at me, he was called “Clazey Jim,” and had never stayed long anywhere. This made us a little uneasy, though nothing could have been more reassuring and sane than his usual cheery, diligent ways. But once or twice he did alarm me slightly, when he would launch out about his hopes of some day becoming a Buddhist priest, when he should have saved enough money to take as an offering to the priesthood. In speaking of this he became quite excited, joining his hands together as though in prayer and raising them above his head, turning up his eyes, and telling me all kinds of wonderful legends about miracles that had happened to believers in Buddha.