companions, sages worthy of a magnificent title. From henceforth let us be called 'The Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup.'"
His seven parched companions cheered as their host brought wine. They drank lustily, a few so eagerly that they gurgled.
"Today we drink," said Li Po, "until the sun grows weary. And men will envy us. We have shaken the gloomy dust of officialdom from our feet. We are beyond the influence of eunuchs. Great poets, great singers, all except Chiu Sui who stammers so badly that when sober he cannot say a word. Quick, somebody, help get Sui drunk so he can converse. He looks as glum as though he had been sleeping for a lifetime with a dragon on the bottom of the Yellow River. Why try to talk with a mouthful of rushes?"
The tavern-keeper brought a much larger cup. After drinking five pints, Chiu Sui's tongue was loosened, and his repartee flashed as quickly as echo follows sound.
Next to him sat Li Shih-chih, who drank like a whale.
Li Po regarded him meditatively. "Why don't you go fishing?" he asked, reverting to a previous subject.
"What good would I be fishing?"
"Good bait, if nothing else."
Shih-chih laughed heartily. "No, no, Li Po," he said, "far better bait would be your verses."
Ho Chih-chang asked angrily, "Have you no respect for written characters? You are unworthy to walk the roads of China."
