Unfortunately in some mysterious way the plans and proposals they discussed leaked out, allowing the other side to checkmate their best moves and woefully retard progress.  It was really too provoking just as these troublesome negotiations promised to end so well; it meant precious time wasted; it meant unnecessary anxiety and worry.  But no matter, history has never been made without trouble to its makers; the I.G. was well prepared for obstacles; he met them with patience, discovered their cause with rare intelligence, remedied them with despatch—­and this time the Convention was safely signed.  Pens had been poised over it so long that I can imagine he breathed a sigh of relief when the signatures were actually on the document.

A big banquet celebrated the signing—­a grand affair given by Li to the personnel of the drama.  Most of the Foreign Ministers from Peking were present, they having come down to Chefoo to see what was going on.  Two British admirals had put in for the same reason, so the banquet did not lack distinguished guests.  The display of uniforms, medals and decorations was dazzling, while the decorations of the hall were as gorgeous as splendour-loving Orientals could devise.

The clever Li toasted the occasion by a happy speech, in which he dwelt on the joy of meeting so many friends together.  Most of them he had known (outwitted, too, I daresay) for some time, but now, unhindered by the restraints of public business, he could enjoy their society with a freedom hitherto denied him, and he concluded, “Since at this port of Yentai [Chefoo] beautiful scenery delights the eye and cool breezes give health to the body, it is fitting that our minds should be in harmony with the beauties of nature, cultivating friendship and sincerity as being the noblest traits of human character.”  All of which was very pretty sentiment, and if some poetic licence got mixed in with the truth, surely the occasion justified the alliance.

Li certainly had reason to feel pleased with himself and his work.  The Convention was excellent—­though it might have been still better had Robert Hart had more of his own way.  He wished, and the Chinese agreed, to include in it clauses relative to the establishment of a national Chinese Post Office and the opening of mints for uniform coinage throughout the Empire.  But it did not suit all parties to allow one man to make too many suggestions, and so his schemes were frustrated.

Still, over and above all petty international jealousies he had scored another diplomatic triumph, and the Chinese were duly grateful to him for his share in the work.  That was, after all is said, the secret of his unique position—­that confidence of his Chinese employers which he never lost.  Probably the real reason he kept it so well was because of his calm and reticent character, because he could never be moved to anger and impatient words.  Sir Thomas Wade, on the contrary, was a man of exactly the opposite type, and his ch’i, better translated as excitability than anger, often increased his difficulties at a difficult time.