smelly place as this. We would go in a yacht all clean and
comfortable; Charlie says that is the proper way," answered Rose,
surveying the close quarters with little favour.

"You are not a true Campbell if you don't like the smell of tar and
salt-water, nor Charlie either, with his luxurious yacht. Now come
ashore and chin-chin with the Celestials."

After a delightful progress through the great warehouse, peeping
and picking as they went, they found Uncle Mac and the yellow
gentlemen in his private room, where samples, gifts, curiosities,
and newly arrived treasures of all sorts were piled up in pleasing
pro-fusion and con-fusion.

As soon as possible Rose retired to a corner, with a porcelain god
on one side, a green dragon on the other, and, what was still more
embarrassing, Fun See sat on a tea-chest in front, and stared at her
with his beady black eyes till she did not know where to look.

Mr. Whang Lo was an elderly gentleman in American costume,
with his pig-tail neatly wound round his head. He spoke English,
and was talking busily with Uncle Mac in the most commonplace
way so Rose considered him a failure. But Fun See was
delightfully Chinese from his junk-like shoes to the button on his
pagoda hat; for he had got himself up in style, and was a mass of
silk jackets and slouchy trousers. He was short and fat, and
waddled comically; his eyes were very "slanting," as Rose said; his
queue was long, so were his nails; his yellow face was plump and
shiny, and he was altogether a highly satisfactory Chinaman.