CHAPTER XI.

       In Which Kin-Fo Becomes The Most Celebrated Man In The Central Empire.

       Table of Contents

      Still Wang could not be found; and Kin-Fo began to fume at being forced to inactivity, and at being unable to at least hasten in pursuit of the philosopher. But how could he have done this, since Wang had disappeared without a clew?

      This complication did not fail to disturb the principal agent of the Centenary. After thinking at first that it was not a serious matter, because Wang would not fulfil his promise (for even in eccentric America such mad projects would not be executed), he began to believe that nothing was impossible in the strange country called the Celestial Empire, and soon concluded, with Kin-Fo, that, if they could not find the philosopher, the latter would keep his word. His disappearance indicated on his part the intention of performing the fatal deed when his pupil least expected it, and to let it come upon him then like a thunderbolt, and to strike him to his heart with a sure, swift hand; then, after placing the letter on the victim’s body, he would come, and quietly present himself at the office of the Centenary to claim his part of the policy.

      Wang, therefore, must be notified; but this could not be done directly.

      The Honorable William J. Bidulph was led to employ indirect means through the press. In a few days notices were sent to the Chinese newspapers, and telegrams to the foreign papers in both worlds.

      The “Tching-Pao,” the official paper in Pekin, those in Chinese at Shang-hai and Hong-Kong, the journals of most extensive circulation in Europe and the two Americas, reproduced to satiety the following notice:—

      “Mr. Wang of Shanghai is begged to consider that the agreement made between Kin-Fo and himself, dated the 2d of May last, is cancelled; the said Mr. Kin-Fo having now only one desire, that of dying a centenarian.”

      After this strange advertisement, the following appeared, which was much more practical and effective:—

      “Two thousand dollars, or thirteen hundred taels, to whoever will make known to William J. Bidulph, principal agent of the Centenary at Shanghai, the present residence of Mr. Wang of said city.”

      There was nothing to make one suppose that the philosopher had been running round the world during the interval of fifty-five days given him to fulfil his promise: he was more likely concealed in the environs of Shang-hai, in order to profit by every opportunity; but the Honorable William J. Bidulph did not think he could take too many precautions.

      Several days passed, and the situation did not change. Now it happened that these advertisements—reproduced in profusion in the form familiar to Americans (Wang! Wang!! Wang!!! on one side, and Kin-Fo! Kin-Fo!! Kin-Fo!!! on the other)—had the final result of attracting public attention, and provoking general merriment.

      Every one laughed at them, even the people in the remotest provinces of the Celestial Empire.

      “Where is Wang?”

      “Who has seen Wang?”

      “Where does Wang live?”

      “What is Wang doing?”

      “Wang, Wang, Wang!” cried the Chinese children in the street.

      These questions were soon in every one’s mouth; and Kin-Fo, this worthy Celestial “whose strongest desire was to become a centenarian,” who proposed to contend for longevity with the celebrated elephant whose twentieth lustrum was just drawing to a close in the Palace of the Stables of Pekin, could not fail to be soon very much in the fashion.

      “Well, is Sire Kin-Fo getting on in years?”

      “How does he do?”

      “Is his digestion good?”

“Shall we see him wear the yellow robe of old men?”1

      Thus the civil and military mandarins, merchants on change and in the counting-houses, the people in the streets and squares, and the boatmen in their floating cities, accosted each other with these mocking phrases.

      The Chinese are very gay and very caustic, and one will agree that they had now some cause for gayety; and jokes of every kind went the rounds, and even caricatures were hung on the walls of private houses.

      Kin-Fo, to his great dissatisfaction, had to endure the inconveniences of this singular celebrity.

      They went so far as to sing songs about him to the tune of “Man-Tchiang-Houng,”—the wind which blows through the willows. And a lament appeared, which put the whole scene pleasantly: “The Five Periods of the Centenarian.” What an alluring title! and what profit it made at three sapeques a copy!

      If Kin-Fo fretted at all this noise made over his name, Mr. Bidulph, on the contrary, rejoiced; but Wang was none the less concealed from every eye.

      Now things went so far, that the position was no longer endurable to Kin-Fo. If he went out, a train of Chinese of every age and both sexes accompanied him through the streets, and along the wharves, and even through the conceded territories, and also through the country. When he returned home, a jeering crowd of the worst kind gathered before the doors of the yamen. Every morning he had to appear at the balcony of his room, in order to prove to his people that he had not prematurely slept in the coffin in the kiosk of Long Life. The newspapers published a bulletin of jokes about his health with ironical comments, as if he belonged to the reigning dynasty of the Tsing. In short, he became perfectly ridiculous.

      It therefore happened that one day, the 21st of May, the greatly vexed Kin-Fo went to see the Honorable William J. Bidulph, and imparted to him his intention of immediately leaving the place. He had had enough of Shang-hai and the Shang-hai people.

      “But this will be running greater risks,” was the very true remark of the principal agent.

      “I care little for that,” replied Kin-Fo. “Take your precautions in consequence.”

      “But where will you go?”

      “Straight ahead.”

      “Where will you stop?”

      “Nowhere.”

      “And when will you return?”

      “Never.”

      “And if I should have news of Wang?”

      “To the devil with Wang! Oh, how foolish I was to give him that absurd letter!”

      At heart Kin-Fo felt the wildest desire to find the philosopher. The idea that his life was in another’s hands began to irritate him intensely, and very soon haunted him. Wait a month longer in such a situation! He never could resign himself to it.

      The lamb was changing its nature.

      “Well, leave then,” said Mr. Bidulph. “Craig and Fry will follow you wherever you go.”

      “As you please,” answered Kin-Fo; “but I warn you they will have to run about some.”

      “They will run about, my dear sir; they will run about: for they are not men who would think of sparing their legs.”

      Kin-Fo returned to the yamen, and, without losing a moment, made his preparations

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