othes to open a shop in Petticoat Lane, or
even in Bow Street.

They found a rifle-blanket in one of his wooden shoes, and it was heavy
with gold-dust. Poor Washee-Washee, when called upon to explain, said
timidly that he had found it floating up the river past his cabin, and
took it in to dry it. He seemed hurt when they refused to believe him.
They found a hose coiled up in his great bamboo hat. One of the men took
hold of his queue, his beautiful long black queue that swept the ground
with its braided folds and black silk tassels tipped with red and gold,
and found it heavy with nuggets, hidden away, for what purpose goodness
only knows. It was heavy enough to sink it like a shot were it a fish
line--and all this gold was his!

They threatened hard things to Washee-Washee, these rough, outraged,
hairy fellows, who had patronized him and helped him and tried to get
him along in the world, but he was perfectly passive and tranquil.

A man who stood there with a bundle of recovered treasure-trove, in the
shape of shirts and coats of many colors, because of many patches, took
Washee-Washee by the little pink ear, and twisted him up and around till
he saw his face. Then he let him go, and catching his clothes up under
his arm strode on out of the cabin and on down to his claim and his
work. The meekest man that the world has seen since Socrates, was
Washee-Washee. He sat there with the same semi-grin on his face, the
same half smile in his almond eyes, though a man shook a rope in his
face, jerked it up, thrust out his tongue, pointed to a tree, and hung
himself in pantomime before this placid Chinaman.

"What will we do with him?" A bearded citizen stood there with a bundle
of clothes under his arm, waiting to be gone.

"Poor, lonesome, harmless little man." Sandy stood there, repeating the
words of the little Widow without knowing it.

"He does lie so helplessly," said one. "If he could only lie decently,
we might hang him decently."

"Tell you what, flog him and send him adrift." The man who proposed this
was a stranger, with an anchor and other hall-marks of the sea on his
hairy arms.

"Wolves would eat 'im on the mountain."

"Wolves eat a Chinaman! They 'd eat a gum boot fust!"

"Tell you what we'll do," growled the Gopher, "reform him."

"Reform hell!" said the sailor to himself.

"Come, let's do a little missionary business, and begin at home," urged
the Gopher. "Get the Judge to reprimand him. Have h