"Ho, illustrious passers-by!" said Kai Lung, the story-teller, as he
spread out his embroidered mat under the mulberry-tree. "It is indeed
unlikely that you would condescend to stop and listen to the foolish
words of such an insignificant and altogether deformed person as
myself. Nevertheless, if you will but retard your elegant footsteps
for a few moments, this exceedingly unprepossessing individual will
endeavour to entertain you with the recital of the adventures of the
noble Yung Chang, as recorded by the celebrated Pe-ku-hi."

Thus adjured, the more leisurely-minded drew near to hear the history
of Yung Chang. There was Sing You the fruit-seller, and Li Ton-ti the
wood-carver; Hi Seng left his clients to cry in vain for water; and
Wang Yu, the idle pipe-maker, closed his shop of "The Fountain of
Beauty," and hung on the shutter the gilt dragon to keep away
customers in his absence. These, together with a few more shopkeepers
and a dozen or so loafers, constituted a respectable audience by the
time Kai Lung was ready.

"It would be more seemly if this ill-conditioned person who is now
addressing such a distinguished assembly were to reward his fine and
noble-looking hearers for their trouble," apologized the story-teller.
"But, as the Book of Verses says, 'The meaner the slave, the greater
the lord'; and it is, therefore, not unlikely that this majestic
concourse will reward the despicable efforts of their servant by
handfuls of coins till the air appears as though filled with swarms of
locusts in the season of much heat. In particular, there is among this
august crowd of Mandarins one Wang Yu, who has departed on three
previous occasions without bestowing the reward of a single cash. If
the feeble and covetous-minded Wang Yu will place within this very
ordinary bowl the price of one of his exceedingly ill-made pipes, this