Yet again am I in the midst of a tightly wedged crowd, helpless to make myself understood, and equally helpless to find my own way.  Three hours after entering the city I am following-the Fates only know whither—­the leadership of an individual who fortunately “sabes” a word or so of pidgin English, and who really seems to have discovered my wants.  First of all he takes me inside a temple-like building and gives me a drink of tea and a few minutes’ respite from the annoying pressure of the crowds; he then conducts me along a street that looks somewhat familiar, leads me to the gate I first entered, and points triumphantly in the direction of Canton!

I now know as much about the road to Sam-shue as I did before reaching Fat-shan, and have learned a brief lesson of Chinese city experience that is anything but encouraging for the future.  The feeling of relief at escaping from the narrow streets and the garrulous, filthy crowds, however, overshadows all sense of disappointment.  The lesson of Fat-shan it is proposed to turn to good account by following the country paths in a general course indicated by my map from city to city rather than to rely on the directions given by the people, upon whom my words and gestures seem to be entirely thrown away.

For a couple of miles I retraverse the path by which I reached Fat-shan before encountering a divergent pathway, acceptable as, leading distinctly toward the northwest.  The inevitable Celestial is right on hand, extracting no end of satisfaction from following, shadow-like, close behind and watching my movements.  Pointing along the divergent northwest road, I ask him if this is the koon lo to Sam-shue; for answer he bestows upon me an expansive but wholly expressionless grin, and points silently toward Canton.  These repeated failures to awaken the comprehension of intelligent-looking Chinamen, or, at all events, to obtain from them the slightest information in regard to my road, are somewhat bewildering, to say the least.  So much of this kind of experience crowded into the first day, however, is very fortunate, as awakening me with healthy rudeness to a realizing sense of what I am to expect; it places me at once on my guard, and enables me to turn on the tap of self-reliance and determination to the proper notch.

Shaking my head at the almond-eyed informant who wants me to return to Canton, I strike off in a northwesterly course.  The Chinaman grins and chuckles humorously at my departure, as though his risibilities were probed to their deepest depths at my perverseness in going contrary to his directions.  As plainly as though spoken in the purest English, his chuckling laughter echoes the thought:  “You’ll catch it, Mr. Fankwae, before you have gone very far in that direction; you’ll wish you had listened to me and gone back to ‘Quang-tung.’”