The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1891-09-18
THE SOUL OF THE CAT.

Yee Sam Ling was lonely one. He
had friends in plenty and relatives, too,
for that matter, but Ling had his own
views on matrimony and he didn't be-
lieve anybody could be happy without a
wife. It was strange why he had so sud-
denly taken on that belief, for hadn't he
lived fifteen years away from his own
Flowery Land! Of course he had.
He came first to the Golden Hills and
went to work in the mines, but he
couldn't stand it, for he used to feel the
strange white devils at night punching
him in the back. So he gave his claim
in the Golden Hills to relative and
travelled across the continent to New
York, curled up like mink on seat of
the smoking car
He was idle for awhile and then started
in to sell soap to the laundrymen, until
finally he got enough of the American
mans cash to rent a store. He put out
his red sign, with the futtering red
streamers on it to keep the evil ones
away, and he became merchant. Ev-
cry night for years he had crawled into
his little bunk curtained off at the back
of the store, and after comforting him.
self with the opium he loved SO well he
had fallen to sleep, to dream Of pretty
Chinese girls tottering on pink clouds
across the water and stretching their
arms out to him.
He often thought of China and the
home life there, and he used to count
the money in his trunk and wonder when
he would have enough to go back and
buy koonfoo's rank and wear cap
with the red button of the third degree.
Then he thought he would buy with
some of his money the prettiest girl in
the province, and she would have feet so
small that she couldn't walk at all un-
less she had q strong servant holding
each hand.
He often played the lottery in the hope
that he would win, and he burned prayer
sticks before his kat god that he might
have luck, but he might just as well
have saved the sticks, for luck never
came. So persistently did he lose that
more than once he was tempted to let
one of the burning prayer sticks fall
over against the god and burn it, but he
was afraid lest the deceit should be dis
covered and the god seek a just revenge.
One day there came into his store a
white girl who lived on the top floor Of
the tenement around the corner. She
had hair like the wong shik gold he used
to dig out of the Golden hills.
''Say, John" she said, .me mothers
run out o sope, an she's up to her neck
in washin. Gimme bar!''
Ling was smitten with a great love.
He remembered having seen this girl go
past his store many times, but he never
had such chance as this to speak to
her.
"You NOMINEE want sope" he asked.
"She washee?"
eyes; want er bar, an l want it
quick"
'sAlle lite," said Ling, and he clattered
behind the narrow counter and pulled
out from shelf two bars of SOAP
"You takkee two," he said. mo
n'gant'sin, you takkee; you sabe?" and
he pushed the soap and the five pennies
she had laid down away from him. Then
he went on: 81 lakkee you; you heap
NIGEL Lat you name%
"Gee, what graft" said the girl; 80
get de sope for nuttin, do l, John? Well,
me names Maggie Sullivan, if yer
wanter know"
Ling looked at her with admiring eyes.
Then he pointed to the soap and pennies
and said simply:
"You takkee. heap lakkee you, sabe?
You clum CLAIM"
"Yes, sabe, John" said the girl, can
I'll come again"
So she went out and Ling went to the
door and looked after her until she had
disappeared around the corner. Then
he went back behind the narrow counter
and sat down on stool. He rested his
elbows on pile of paper, sunk his chin
in his hands and thought very hard.
His thinking amounted to something,
for he went to the little cubby room cur
tanned off at the back of the store, and
out of the big camphor wood chest he
pulled some carefully folded clothes. He
was a new man when he came out into
the store again, and couple of his
eonntrymen who had dropped in to have
a friendly chat and smoke began to
chaff him.
His old cloth blouse, with the shiny
place on the back where his well oiled
cue had hung, lay in heap on the
floor with his old pow tail and coarse
trousers, instead he wore clothes of bro
caded dark blpo silk and his sandals
were like those of q l1oOnfoo. A cold
wind was blowing mp the street. It
made him shiyer. but he stood his ground
and watched for the coming of Maggie
Sullivan.
Every day for week he watched, un-
til on the eighth day he saw her running
by with a shawl over her head and a
pitcher in her hand. "Hi-lo," he cried,
"hi-lo, Maggie 6l'm'nl you com nj
chuss"
Hello, John; how's thingss I'll see
yer when get th' old mans beer" and