“Assuredly,” agreed Chou-hu, at once perceiving the wisdom of the change; “also, in that case, there would be less—­”

“Ah!” again cried the woman, shaking her upraised finger reprovingly at Chou-hu (for so daintily endowed was her mind that she shrank from any of the grosser realities of the act unless they were clothed in the very gilded flowers of speech).  “Desist, O crimson-minded barbarian!  Let us now walk side by side along the river bank and drink in the soul-stirring melody of the musicians who at this hour will be making the spot doubly attractive with the concord of stringed woods and instruments of brass struck with harmonious unison.”

The scheme for freeing Chou-hu from the embarrassment of Yan’s position was not really badly arranged, nor would it have failed in most cases, but the barber was not sufficiently broad-witted to see that many of the inspired sayings which he used as arguments could be taken in another light and conveyed a decisive warning to himself.  A pleasantly devised proverb has been aptly compared to a precious jewel, and as the one has a hundred light-reflecting surfaces, so has the other a diversity of applications, until it is not infrequently beyond the comprehension of an ordinary person to know upon which side wisdom and prudence lie.  On the following afternoon Yan was seated in his accustomed corner when Chou-hu entered the shop with uneven feet.  The barriers against the street had been raised and the outer door was barred so that none might intrude, while Chou-hu had already carefully examined the walls to ensure that no crevices remained unsealed.  As he entered he was seeking, somewhat incoherently, to justify himself by assuring the deities that he had almost changed his mind until he remembered the many impious acts on Yan’s part in the past, to avenge which he felt himself to be their duly appointed instrument.  Furthermore, to convince them of the excellence of his motive (and also to protect himself against the influence of evil spirits) he advanced repeating the words of an invocation which in his youth he had been accustomed to say daily in the temple, and thereupon Yan knew that the moment was at hand.

“Behold, master!” he exclaimed suddenly, in clearly expressed words, “something lies at your feet.”

Chou-hu looked down to the floor and lying before him was a piece of silver.  To his dull and confused faculties it sounded an inaccurate detail of his pre-arranged plan that Yan should have addressed him, and the remark itself seemed dimly to remind him of something that he had intended to say, but he was too involved with himself to be able to attach any logical significance to the facts and he at once stooped greedily to possess the coin.  Then Yan, who had an unfaltering grasp upon the necessities of each passing second, sprang agilely forward, swung the staff, and brought it so proficiently down upon Chou-hu’s lowered head that the barber dropped lifeless to the ground and