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ing dominoes, the little piles of copper coin indicating the stakes. They are so intent on the game that they do not notice my standing by and watching them. Winning or losing, they take it very philosophically, without loud words or quarreling. Presently the gong sounds for dinner, and all start up “eager for the fray”—for eating, whether in cabin or steerage, is an important matter on board ship. The 700 Chinese are divided into fifty messes of fourteen each. Two from each mess, as its number is called, are detailed to bring the rations, consisting to-day of a large tin pan of boiled rice, another of beef and vegetables chopped up into pieces about an inch square, and a small dish of pickles by way of relish. Each mess has, also, a tin can holding about two gallons of tea. Placing the provisions on the deck, the mess forms a group around, end each man, squatted on his hells, pulls out his “chop-sticks” and “goes in” without ceremony or saying grace. The chop sticks are of dark wood, about the size of a penholder or lead pencil, but longer, and are held between the thumb and two first fingers of the right hand. This is the [errata 1] “knife and fork” of nearly one half of the human race, and it is a curious sight to watch with what dexterity they are enabled by habit and practice to use them. Holding them likes pair of tongs they can pick up the smallest kernels of rice and transfer them to the mouth as rapidly as we could accomplish the same by the use of a table spoon. Besides chop-sticks, each one is provided with a small bowl, which he fills with rice, and, holding near his mouth with his left band, its contents are speedily transferred down his throat. This exercise is varied by an occasional dive with the chop sticks into the dish of meat and the transfer of a choice bit to accompany the rice in its downward course. Wo to the slow cater in this crowd, if any there be! The typical American who bolts his dinner in five minutes at a railway eating house, using knife and fork indiscriminately, is slow compared with John Chinaman, armed with his two bits of wood. The pan of rice is soon empty and is refilled as many times as desired, and the quantity of rice these people can eat when the supply is unstinted is wonderful. At last the “chop stick exercise” flags, the last kernel of rice and scrap of meat has disappeared. With a sigh of regret at the transitory nature of all human happiness, John carefully wipes his
- ↑ Correction: should be amended to expected
