CANTON
ing—always on the alert and ready to flash the signal which tells of a tentative nibble at the hook below.
The steamer continues up the river and, as the sun finally shakes itself clear of the horizon and steps out on the roof of the world, the landing place comes into view and the passengers make ready for their venture into the unknown highways and byways of life in the city of Canton.
After a period of maneuvering along the water front, the steamer—as if afraid of crushing the smaller boats which clutter up its path—moves slowly into its berth; the gangplank is thrown out, the passengers walk from the steamer and almost immediately become engaged in what is apparently a desperate fight for life and security of limb.
| A BATTLE FOR LIFE |
N American who has lived in his own country and has become accustomed to seeing the Chinaman as a quiet, unassuming, stoical, and perhaps a bit complacent, sort of a person, is apt to be abruptly disillusioned—in one respect at any rate—when he lands from the Hongkong steamer at the Canton wharf. A majority of the
Twenty-Two
