KAI LUNG'S GOLDEN HOURS
have fallen had he not struck heavily against a massive jar of lacquered brass, one of two that flanked the door.
"Thy province is to tell a tale rather than to dance a grotesque, as I understand the matter," said the attendant, mollified by the amusement. "In any case, restrain thy admitted ardour for a while; the call is not yet for us."
From a group that stood apart some distance from the door one moved forth and leisurely crossed the hall. Kai Lung's wounded head ceased to pain him.
"What slave is this," she demanded of the other in a slow and level tone, "and wherefore do the two of you intrude on this occasion?"
"The exalted lord commands that this one of the prisoners should attend here thus, to divert them with his fancies, he having a certain wit of the more foolish kind. Kai Lung, the dog's name is."
"Approach yet nearer to the inner door," directed the maiden, indicating the direction; "so that when the message comes there shall be no inept delay." As they moved off to obey she stood in languid unconcern, leaning across the opening of a tall brass vase, one hand swinging idly in its depths, until they reached their station. Kai Lung did not need his eyes to know.
Presently the music ceased, and summoned to appear in turn, Kai Lung stood forth among the guests. On the right hand of the Mandarin reclined the base Ming-shu, his mind already vapoury with the fumes of wine, the secret malice of his envious mind now boldly leaping from his eyes.
"The overrated person now about to try your refined patience to its limit is one who calls himself Kai Lung," declared Ming-shu offensively. "From
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