The Wind That Tramps the World
The old man sat and gazed before him. He seemed to be peering into the future, an old prognosticator crouching before his house. John Steppling stood and stared at the ancient figure. He was so small he resembled a child, a very old child with a wisp of a beard.
Steppling was curious. Who was this ancient stranger, this man so different to all the other inhabitants of the desolate city? Nothing that he had beheld since crossing the mountain barriers had so completely captivated his interest. "Perhaps," he thought, "this man may understand English." Despite his extreme age there was an undeniable air of culture about him.
"I wonder," said Steppling, "why they call this town the City of the Big Winds."
The old man did not stir. He seemed carved of stone.
Steppling repeated the sentence. There was no response. Then he repeated it again in a louder voice.
Finally the old man turned. He shook his shoulders in a peculiar manner as though trying to escape from his reveries, from the visions which his imagination had conjured up for him.
"What do you wish?" he asked finally in quaintly accented though perfectly pronounced English.
Steppling was nonplussed. He did not know what to answer. He was surprised that the old Chinaman understood English. So long had it been since he had conversed with anyone, the question was rather a
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