mandarin--that's a sort o' Chink police-court judge
(till I got ter Tientsin I always thought they was little oranges), an'
this tangerine's--I mean mandarin's--name was Wu Ti Ming, an' he'd been
a high mucky-muckraker in his day, which was two or three hundred years
back. But the Emprer caught him deep in some sort o' graft an' _took
away his button_ an' all o' his dough.

"'Lord!' says Buck when we come ter this, 'don't that prove what
heathens Chinks is? Only one button ter keep on their clothes with, an'
the Emprer he kin take it away! What did this here Judge Ming do then,
John? Use string or pins?' This here John didn't seem ter savvy, but he
said that the mandarin took on so fer his button an' his loss of pull in
the ward that it was sure sad ter see, an' by an' by the Emprer got busy
again with him an' had him finished up fer keeps; had him die the 'death
of a thousand cuts,' says John. It sounded fierce ter me, but Buck he
says:

"'Pshaw! Anybody who's been shaved reg'lar by them lady barbers on
Fourth Avenyer would 'a' give the Emprer the merry ha-ha----'

"After Ming was cut up they took the remains of his corpse an' planted
him in this here graveyard up the road; but he wouldn't stay planted an'
began doin' stunts at night, 'topside walkee-walkee' an' a-huntin' fer
his lost button. He'd used ter have the whole country scared up, but fer
the last twenty years he'd kep' right quiet an' had hardly ever come
out; but now sence the foreign devils come (ain't that a sweet name fer
us?) he's up an' at it again worse than ever, an' the heathens is on
their ear. Fer four nights now they'd seen him, wrapped in a blue robe,
waitin' an' a-huntin' behind tombstones an' walkin' round an' round the
graveyard lie a six days' race fer the belt at Madison Square. John had
jus' seen him on the wall, an' that was why he come chargin' down the
road like forty cats.

"'Will Mr. Ming's sperrit walk till he gits that button back?' Buck
asts. John says: 'Sure.'

"'Well,' says Buck, 'why don't yer give him one?'

"'No can give. Only Emplor, only Son of Heaven give.'

"'Well, look here,' says Buck, 'we sand rabbits ain't no sons of Heaven,
but I'll be darned if we couldn't spare a button ter lay the ghost of a
pore busted police-court judge, who's lost his job an' his tin, if
_that's_ all he wants back. What time does he come out at, John? Could
we see him ter-morrer night?' 'Sure could we,' says John; 'he'll show us
the way,