ve for a moment into a Chinese wash-cellar. "John" does
three-fourths of the washing of California. His lavatories are on
every street. "Hip Tee, Washing and Ironing," says the sign, evidently
the first production of an amateur in lettering. Two doors above is
the establishment of Tong Wash--two below, that of Hi Sing. Hip Tee
and five assistants are busy ironing. The odor is a trinity of steam,
damp clothes and opium. More Mongolian tongues are heard from smoky
recesses in the rear. As we enter, Hip Tee is blowing a shower of
moisture from his mouth, "very like a whale." This is his method
of dampening the linen preparatory to ironing. It is a skilled
performance. The fluid leaves his lips as fine as mist. If we are on
business we leave our bundles, and in return receive a ticket covered
with hieroglyphics. These indicate the kind and number of the garments
left to be cleansed, and some distinguishing mark (supposing this
to be our first patronage of Hip Tee) by which we may be again
identified. It may be by a pug nose, a hare lip, red hair, no hair or
squint eyes. They never ask one's name, for they can neither pronounce
nor write it when it is given. The ticket is an unintelligible tracery
of lines, curves, dots and dashes, made by a brush dipped in India
ink on a shred of flimsy Chinese paper. It may teem with abuse and
ridicule, but you must pocket all that, and produce it on calling
again, or your shirts and collars go into the Chinese Circumlocution
Wash-house Office. It is very difficult getting one's clothes back if
the ticket be lost--very. Hip Tee now dabs a duplicate of your ticket
in a long book, and all is over. You will call on Saturday night for
your linen. You do so. There is apparently the same cellar, the same
smell of steam, damp clothes and opium, the same sputter of sprinkling
water, and apparently the same Hip Tee and assistants with brown
shaven foreheads and long cues hanging straight down behind or coiled
in snake-like fashion about their craniums. You present your ticket.
Hip Tee examines it and shakes his head. "No good--oder man," he says,
and points up the street. You are now perplexed and somewhat alarmed.
You say: "John, I want my clothes. I left them here last Monday. You
gave me that ticket." "No," replies Hip Tee very decidedly, "oder
man;" and again he waves his arm upward. Then you are wroth. You
abuse, expostulate, entreat, and talk a great deal of English, and
some of it very strong