“You must go in uniform,” Lieutenant Webster replied to their request, “and the captain’s positive orders are not to enter the Chinese city.”
The lads quickly agreed to keep to this rule, and a half hour later the “Phœnix’s” steam launch landed them on the stone jetty abreast the ship.
Here they were immediately surrounded by a score of Chinese ricksha coolies, each one anxious to enlist their patronage in engaging a jinricksha, which is the customary conveyance of the far Eastern countries. The lads were soon seated each in one of these miniature carriages; and the coolies in the shafts darted off at a lively pace down the smooth macadamized roadbed of the Bund.
“Where shall we go first?” Sydney questioned, raising his voice so as to be heard above the rattle of the wheels.
Phil shook his head in sign of perfect indifference. The sensation of riding in one of these novel carriages for the first time was distinctly pleasant. He felt half exhilarated and half ridiculous. However, before they had traveled a block, he lost his feeling that every one was looking at him, a grown man riding in a baby carriage, and began to thoroughly enjoy the situation. The throngs on the streets interested him, and the color scheme pleased his eye; the gayly dressed natives sprinkled here and there with the more sombre garb of the Europeans or Americans.
“I don’t care,” he answered as Sydney repeated his question. “Let them take us wherever they will. Later, though, I want to go to the bank and buy a draft to send home.
“Here we are,” he added suddenly, making energetic efforts to stop his own ricksha in its mad career, as he espied the sign on a great stone building: “Hongkong Bank.”
The lads alighting, bidding by sign their rickshas to wait, entered the wide doorway of the bank.
Here they met scores of Chinamen pouring continually in and out, depositing or drawing out great sacks of Mexican dollars, the token currency of China. Behind the counters, although the bank was owned by an English corporation, Phil saw only Chinese. Millions of dollars daily passed through their hands.
Leaving Sydney gazing interestedly at the scenes of activity, Phil moved over to a desk upon which were paper and ink laid out for the bank customers. As he drew near, he took casual note of a foreigner standing with his back toward the door, engaged apparently in writing. At the man’s feet he saw a neatly folded paper lying. Apparently it had just been dropped from the foreigner’s pocket. Stooping down, Phil picked it up, hastily glancing over it to see if it was of sufficient consequence to ask the stranger if it were his. He had barely time to note that the writing was in English when it was roughly seized from his hand, and looking up in surprise, he found himself confronted by an angry, excited face, whose dark, piercing eyes snapped with uncontrolled passion. The stranger thrust the letter into his pocket with one hand, while the other was closely clenched as if he were about to strike down the innocent offender.