ck
Dog--is a bronze cannon, nine feet long, cast at Rotterdam in 1607. He
writes, 'I saw it in shed last night, but is gone to-day. O.W.'
Gentlemen, for a timid man, our friend does not scamp his reports.
Thorough, rather? Little O.W. is O.K."

Chantel, still humming, had moved toward the door. All at once he
halted, and stared from the landward window. Cymbals clashed
somewhere below.

"What's this?" he cried sharply. The noise drew nearer, more brazen,
and with it a clatter of hoofs. "Here come swordsmen!"

"To play with you, I suppose. Your fame has spread." Heywood spoke with
a slow, mischievous drawl; but he crossed the room quickly. "What's up?"

Below, by the open gate, a gay grotesque rider reined in a piebald pony,
and leaning down, handed to the house-boy a ribbon of scarlet paper.
Behind him, to the clash of cymbals, a file of men in motley robes
swaggered into position, wheeled, and formed the ragged front of a
Falstaff regiment. Overcome by the scarlet ribbon, the long-coated "boy"
bowed, just as through the gate, like a top-heavy boat swept under an
arch, came heaving an unwieldy screened chair, borne by four broad men:
not naked and glistening coolies, but "Tail-less Horses" in proud
livery. Before they could lower their shafts, Heywood ran clattering
down the stairs.

Slowly, cautiously, like a little fat old woman, there clambered out
from the broadcloth box a rotund man, in flowing silks, and a conical,
tasseled hat of fine straw. He waddled down the compound path, shading
with his fan a shrewd, bland face, thoughtful, yet smooth as a babe's.

The watchers in the upper room saw Heywood greet him with extreme
ceremony, and heard the murmur of "Pray you, I pray you," as with
endless bows and deprecations the two men passed from sight, within the
house. A long time dragged by. The visitor did not join the company, but
from another room, now and then, sounded his clear-pitched voice, full
of odd and courteous modulations. When at last the conference ended, and
their unmated footsteps crossed the landing, a few sentences echoed from
the stairway.

"That is all," declared the voice, pleasantly. "The Chow Ceremonial
says, 'That man is unwise who knowingly throws away precious things.'
And in the Analects we read, 'There is merit in dispatch.'"

Heywood's reply was lost, except the words, "stupid people."

"In every nation," agreed the placid voice. "It is true. What says the
Viceroy of Hupeh: 'They