“You can understand English, if you can’t speak it, eh?”

The Chinaman smiled.  His eyes rolled round the room till he caught sight of Alister, then suddenly producing three letters, fanwise, as if he were holding a hand at whist, he jerked up the centre one, like a “forced” card in a trick, and said softly, “For you”—­and still looking round with the others in his hand, he added, “For two; allee same as you,” and as Alister distributed them to Dennis and me, his wooden face took a few wrinkles of contempt, and he added, “One nigger bringee.  Mister Macdonald, he send me.”

After this explanation he stood quite still.  Even his face was unmoved, but his eyes went round and to every corner of the room.  I was so absorbed in watching him that Dennis was reading his letter aloud before I had opened mine.  But they were all alike, with the exception of our names.  They were on pink paper, and highly scented.  This was Dennis O’Moore’s: 

“Hymeneal.—­Mr. Alfonso St. Vincent and Miss Georgiana Juba’s compliments are respectfully offered, and will be happy of Mr. Dennis O’Moore’s company on the occasion of the celebration of their nuptials.  Luncheon at twelve on the auspicious day, Saturday ——­”

“Oh, botheration!  It’s six weeks hence,” said Dennis.  “Will we be here, I wonder?”

“We’ll go if we are.”  “Poor old Alfonso!” “Well done, Alfonso!” Such were our sentiments, and we expressed them in three polite notes, which the Chinaman instantaneously absorbed into some part of his person, and having put the hand with which he took them to his head and bowed lowly as before, he went away.  And O’Brien, giving one vicious dust with his coat-sleeve of the door-post, which Ah-Fo had contaminated by a passing touch, followed the “heathen thief” to see him safe off the premises.

“That’s a strange race, now——­” began Alister, but I ran to the window, for Dennis was on the balcony watching for the Chinaman, and remembering the scene on the stelling, I anticipated fun.

“Hi, there!  Fe-fo-fum, or whatever it is that they call ye!”

Ah-Fo looked up with a smile of delighted recognition, which, as Dennis gave a few preliminary stamps, and began to whistle and shuffle, expanded into such hearty laughter, that he was obliged to sit down to it by the roadside.

“Look here, Dennis,” said our host; “we shall have a crowd collecting if you go on with this tomfoolery.  Send him off.”

“All right, old fellow.  Beg your pardon.  Good-bye, Te-to-tum.”

It was not a respectful farewell, but there is a freemasonry of friendliness apart from words.  Dennis had a kindly heart toward his fellow-creatures everywhere, and I never knew his fellow-creatures fail to find it out.

“Good-bye,” said Ah-Fo, lingeringly.

“Good-bye again.  I say, old mandarin,” added the incorrigible Dennis, leaning confidentially over the balcony, “got on pretty well below there?  Or did O’Brien keep the tail of his eye too tight on ye?  Did ye manage to coax a greatcoat of a hall-table or any other trifle of the kind up those sleeves of yours?”