Bund they were firing on the Pootung side, but you couldn’t hear it here.”
He was a tall gaunt man almost entirely bald, with a salient jaw and fine large mouth; his pale eyes under bushy brows burned with such intensity that he himself seemed to realize their gaze would be difficult to bear and let them only flicker over those he looked at. As soon as he came into the room Megan felt that here was a man of a totally different caliber from the Jacksons. There was something restless, fluid and molten about him, that one felt even under his quiet voice and rather laboring speech. Megan wondered if it was because he was a great Chinese scholar that he spoke English laboriously, used it as if it were a not too familiar vehicle, hesitating over some words and then bringing them out with a sudden impatience.
After they had talked for a while Megan asked him about his work at the Christian College in the capital of the province of which General Yen Tso-Chong was military governor.
“I was president of the college a great many years,” he said, “and certainly they were the best years of my life. It is a lovelycity, Miss Davis, a capital of old China, classical China. I wish you might see it. But it is impossible now, every one has cleared out; I don’t believe there is a white man there. In my time there were a hundred or so, not counting those of us out at the college. Yes, it was a wonderful time. I had fine young men to work with, the best type of Chinese. Among them was General Yen, not a general then of course, but a brilliant youngster, already a Chinese scholar, and coming from one of the old Mandarin families of the province. I was very attached to him. When he left me he went to Europe for a few years and when he came back I still saw him, but of course not so much. He was interested in politics then and very occupied. He went to Wampoa for some military training. We rather drifted apart, but I always admired him and when he made himself tupan of the province I believed it was the best thing that could have happened. I had confidence in him. I knew there would be certain traditional things he would do that would be wrong, but I hoped for others, for an increasing number of others, that would be right.” Doctor Strike flashed his eyes absently over them all for a moment, then looked down at his plate.
“It is hard to tell when things first began to go wrong,” he said, “but it came about slowly and surely. All this political unrest to begin with. Then the General, once the power was in his hands, began to abuse it. He took over all the revenues of the province and gave no accounting for them; he began to train large bodies of troops, troops he conscripted and paid off by loans from the local chambers of commerce. I say ‘loans’ but of course they were actually levies never meant to be paid. Then he stopped all the exportation of rice (rice, you know, is one of the chief products of the province), and made large sums out of kumshaw from the smugglers. Why, when I left he had actually collected all of the taxes of the province up to 1930! Of course he did a few admirable things too. He kept strict order; he made expenditures on public works. Certainly the roads were never in better condition (he was fondof motoring), and unexpectedly he even endowed a few charities here and there. Well, as I said, all this happened gradually and in the meantime the political situation grew more and more acute. The Cantonese, or Nationalists, as they like to call themselves, were practically at his doors. It was about then he told me he was obliged to put in a Chinese as president of the college. He did not say who obliged him, but I got nothing out of argument except that I might remain, because of his friendliness to me, as adviser to the Board. Then he said the whole foreign staff would have to leave to make way for Chinese instructors, the instructors all men we had educated of course. So they left, but I hung on. The man
He was a tall gaunt man almost entirely bald, with a salient jaw and fine large mouth; his pale eyes under bushy brows burned with such intensity that he himself seemed to realize their gaze would be difficult to bear and let them only flicker over those he looked at. As soon as he came into the room Megan felt that here was a man of a totally different caliber from the Jacksons. There was something restless, fluid and molten about him, that one felt even under his quiet voice and rather laboring speech. Megan wondered if it was because he was a great Chinese scholar that he spoke English laboriously, used it as if it were a not too familiar vehicle, hesitating over some words and then bringing them out with a sudden impatience.
After they had talked for a while Megan asked him about his work at the Christian College in the capital of the province of which General Yen Tso-Chong was military governor.
“I was president of the college a great many years,” he said, “and certainly they were the best years of my life. It is a lovelycity, Miss Davis, a capital of old China, classical China. I wish you might see it. But it is impossible now, every one has cleared out; I don’t believe there is a white man there. In my time there were a hundred or so, not counting those of us out at the college. Yes, it was a wonderful time. I had fine young men to work with, the best type of Chinese. Among them was General Yen, not a general then of course, but a brilliant youngster, already a Chinese scholar, and coming from one of the old Mandarin families of the province. I was very attached to him. When he left me he went to Europe for a few years and when he came back I still saw him, but of course not so much. He was interested in politics then and very occupied. He went to Wampoa for some military training. We rather drifted apart, but I always admired him and when he made himself tupan of the province I believed it was the best thing that could have happened. I had confidence in him. I knew there would be certain traditional things he would do that would be wrong, but I hoped for others, for an increasing number of others, that would be right.” Doctor Strike flashed his eyes absently over them all for a moment, then looked down at his plate.
“It is hard to tell when things first began to go wrong,” he said, “but it came about slowly and surely. All this political unrest to begin with. Then the General, once the power was in his hands, began to abuse it. He took over all the revenues of the province and gave no accounting for them; he began to train large bodies of troops, troops he conscripted and paid off by loans from the local chambers of commerce. I say ‘loans’ but of course they were actually levies never meant to be paid. Then he stopped all the exportation of rice (rice, you know, is one of the chief products of the province), and made large sums out of kumshaw from the smugglers. Why, when I left he had actually collected all of the taxes of the province up to 1930! Of course he did a few admirable things too. He kept strict order; he made expenditures on public works. Certainly the roads were never in better condition (he was fondof motoring), and unexpectedly he even endowed a few charities here and there. Well, as I said, all this happened gradually and in the meantime the political situation grew more and more acute. The Cantonese, or Nationalists, as they like to call themselves, were practically at his doors. It was about then he told me he was obliged to put in a Chinese as president of the college. He did not say who obliged him, but I got nothing out of argument except that I might remain, because of his friendliness to me, as adviser to the Board. Then he said the whole foreign staff would have to leave to make way for Chinese instructors, the instructors all men we had educated of course. So they left, but I hung on. The man
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