he surveyed the familiar scenes about him, the black enameled boards with golden characters, containing suitable proverbs. The shelves filled with rows of blue and white procelain jars with square pewter covers containing various liquids of an array of colors. Vermilion medicines were those eagerly sought for by the sick. Above, on the upper shelves were smaller octagonal-based jars containing sundry expensive seeds, or ready-mixed powders. It was the custom of Doctor Shen Fu to give advice free to those too poor to afford a doctor.
Intense hatred gnawed at the Doctor's heart. All this might be swept away, lost forever, if something were not done to stem the vicious Jap flood. He stood for an instant before the tiny alcove that sheltered the altar to Shen Nung, the God of Healing. The smoke of burning incense spiraled languidly upward as though to foretell that some day China would sweep out her invaders with the broom of circumstances. But could the old Drug Shop be saved? That was a moot question.
Shen Fu's face was a mask as leisurely he returned to General Nishikori who appeared as puffed up with venom as an adder. Nevertheless, he swallowed his pride though it was harder than gulping a live toad.
"Take me to a room where we may speak without interruption," he said and there was silk in his tone. But he could not help adding, "If we remain here I may be forced to order your execution."
"That is hardly a prelude for a satisfactory conversation," the doctor said gently. "However, your command shall be obeyed, come." As he spoke, he led the way through a steep, winding hall of unusual length, until they entered a windowless room, at the far end of which a single candle burned feebly.
"See," said Shen Fu, "the candle weeps, it weeps for China." As he spoke, a heavy, brass-studded teakwood door swung closed and they were wrapped in silence.
The sudden change from daylight to a room that was almost in darkness was more than Nishikori's myopic eyes could stand.
"Light!" he cried. "I demand light!"
Instantly a lantern blazed forth so brightly that it dazzled Nishikori.
But Doctor Shen Fu ignored the general's discomfiture, as he said, "Be seated. Here we can converse secure from interruption. The room is soundproof and below the level of the earth. In this hidden room it would be well for you not to be too arrogant. Here, I alone, am master. This shop has never been invaded by the Japanese, nor will it ever be. Rather would I turn it into a monstrous bomb that would annihilate Hangchow. Rest assured that in my warehouses are the ingredients and facilities for doing so. It is pleasant to mull over the extraordinary proposition that I could order your destruction, and dispose of your body by using an acid bath to eat it away, and no one would ever know what had become of so illustrious a general. However, I hesitate to do anything distressing to your person, since you have already said you have come as a customer. Only a fool turns away business. But what you buy, I repeat, must be paid for in rice—Japanese rice. I will deal with you on no other terms."
"I admire your spirit," said Nishikori, and there was surprisingly little bombast in his tone. "Of the situation you are now master. Naturally I agree to your terms. I am confronted by a curious perplexity and I have decided you are the one best fitted to solve it."
Not by as much as the flickering of an eyelid did Doctor Shen Fu acknowledge the compliment. His face was a grim mask in a play that was certainly not for children. But Nishikori, drilled in a military school of automatons, was unable to dis-
