Chow Chung; I have come to you with the melancholy
news of the death of our esteemed fellow-citizen, Hang Wang Kai. A
fine man, and a great loss! What I liked about him was that he was
such a thorough Chinaman of the good old stamp. A wealthy man, sir, a
_very_ wealthy man. The family are clients of mine, and they have just
rung me up, asking me to cast a horoscope to ascertain the wishes of
the stars with regard to the date of burial of our poor friend. How
inscrutable are the decrees of the heavenly bodies! They may recommend
the immediate interment of our friend: on the other hand, they may
wish it deferred for two, five, ten, or even twenty years, in which
case our friend would be one of the fortunate tenants of your
delightful Garden of Repose. Quite so. Casting a horoscope is _very_
laborious work, and I can but obey blindly the stars' behests.
Exactly. Should the stars recommend our poor friend's temporary
occupation of one of your attractive little Maisonettes, I should
expect, to compensate me for my labours, a royalty of 20 per cent. on
the gross (I emphasize the gross) rental paid by the family for the
first two years. They, of course, would inform me of any little sum
you did them the honour to accept from them.
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