the dinner-tables of San Francisco
might infer that much of the fear, hatred, and suspicion heaped on Hop Ki falls to him, not so much because he is a heathen, as because his face is womanish, his manner passive, his labour cheap.
Of course, some people may have higher grounds for hating him; but these considerations have their bearing on the great result.
“ You like to have these Asiatic servants in your house?”
I ask my cynical host.
“ On principle, no — in practice, yes,” that host replies.
“Like other hussies, you can do nothing with them, nothing without them.
Out of many evils, you are glad to choose the least.
As cooks and waiters they are worth their salt.
You may not like them, not being certain who they are, and why they left Canton
At home, you may be sure, they were no good.
To us of the White
race they are as shadowy and irresponsible as children of the mist.
Yet if you want a dinner, you must have a Chinaman for cook.”
“Why not an Irish Biddy or Bavarian Traut?”
“No, no; no Irish Biddies and Bavarian Trauts for me!
Look at my rascal Ki. You notice that ”