That is how Chu-bu came into my possession when I travelled once
beyond the hills of Ting. I found him in the fallen temple of Chu-bu
with his hands and toes sticking up out of the rubbish, lying upon his
back, and in that attitude just as I found him I keep him to this day
on my mantlepiece, as he is less liable to be upset that way. Sheemish
was broken, so I left him where he was.
And there is something so helpless about Chu-bu with his fat hands
stuck up in the air that sometimes I am moved out of compassion to bow
down to him and pray, saying, "O Chu-bu, thou that made everything,
help thy servant."
Chu-bu cannot do much, though once I am sure that at a game of bridge
he sent me the ace of trumps after I had not held a card worth having
for the whole of the evening. And chance alone could have done as much
as that for me. But I do not tell this to Chu-bu.
THE WONDERFUL WINDOW
The old man in the Oriental-looking robe was being moved on by the
police, and it was this that attracted to him and the parcel under his
arm the attention of Mr. Sladden, whose livelihood was earned in the
emporium of Messrs. Mergin and Chater, that is to say in their
establishment.
Mr. Sladden had the reputation of being the silliest young man in
Business; a touch of romance--a mere suggestion of it--would send his
eyes gazing away as though the walls of the emporium were of gossamer
and London itself a myth, instead of attending to customers.
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