X. Jones—Of Scotland Yard

by Harry Stephen Keeler

  “But about your specific inquiry, i.e., as to whether I have ever sold a midget mummy, and to whom, and the date—so that you may contact the gentleman with a view to repurchasing same for your proposed foyer exhibit.

  “The first part of this query I can at least answer in the affirmative—and the third part with exactitude—and tragically so. For I did sell such an item—and on no less than the unfortunate day on which I came down with a severe attack of sleeping sickness—an aftermath of influenza—which put me in Kensal Green Nursing Home for 18 long months.

  “The night I came down—and most swiftly and unexpectedly, too—with the illness was April 26, 1935. I had made the sale in the morning, in my shop. And was feeling ill even at the time I made it. A midget came in, and asked me whether by any remote possibility I had in stock such an item, i.e., the mummy of an Egyptian Lilliputian—and of a cost that was within reason. His idea, Mr. Snide, was slightly along the lines of your idea...

  “Very fortunately I did have one midget mummy, considerably damaged—as otherwise the Egyptian government would never have allowed it to have been exported in the first place. Though, for all I know, perhaps it never had gone through legitimate exportation—since I myself got it from an estate, and heavens knows from whom the estate originally got it...

  “After some haggling back and forth, the little man paid me 20 pounds sterling for the mummy.”

  DOCUMENT LI

  Letter, of date June 12, 1935, from Henry Kelkland, United States Postoffice, New York City, addressed to “The Publishers, ‘World Humor,’ 271 Broadway, New York City.”

  Gentlemen:

  Complaint has been made to the Post Office, from several sources, that a certain department you are running monthly in World Humor is a fraud. An extremely clever and ingenious fraud, so the several complainants more or less concede, but nevertheless, so they believe, a fraud just the same.

  Which, if true, renders certain advertising you carry within your publication misrepresentation, and threatens your second-class entry in the postoffice.

  The department in question is carried by you under the heading “Chinaboy Chuckles, Translated for World Humor from the Comic Weeklies of China by Thomas Tai Yong.”

  One complainant avers that he has seen several of the jokes, appearing in this department, in the pages of American and British magazines under such dates as would be practically simultaneous with the original appearance of these items in China. This, if true, would preclude the possibility that the items were picked up in China from these American or English magazines, translated into the native tongue, and then translated back unknowingly by your translator for your department. Though we grant that some other translator of Chinese material, working quite differently than your own alleged translator, may have made for these various American and British magazines a complete and perfect adaptation to the English tongue and idiom of certain of the specimens of Chinese humor.

  Another complainant avers that he has been in China, and has never run across any of the publications to which your items are credited.

  There are, of course, no lists of accredited Chinese magazines nor sheets against which we can check this material with regards to the authenticity of the ascribed sources. It is, moreover, our invariable custom to permit the publisher himself, in all cases, to set forth any or all facts which substantiate advertising he carries concerning his own publication, or claims which he makes concerning its contents.

  I have myself read and re-read a number of issues of this particular department, and several of my confrères here in the postal inspection bureau have done the same. For all that I personally can make out (and this applies to my confrères also!) the department “Chinaboy Chuckles” may well be genuine. If faked, it is beyond me to prove that point: and, if such is the case, I think I may well go so far as to say that your “transmogrifier” of material is a genius, for he has succeeded in imbuing his “jokes” with the very spirit and soul of Chinese thought. But unfortunately, despite genius, and “art,” and all that, the U.S. mailing laws remain the same!

  I shall have, therefore, under the circumstances, to ask you to forward to us evidences of the genuineness of this department before we can permit any further issues containing it, or containing advertising about it, to pass as 2nd class matter in the mails.

  And now, in line with the above, another matter!

  A young man who once worked in your mailing department—but who, of course, no longer works there—was being interviewed recently here in connection with his mailing work on another publication. We took occasion, naturally, on learning that he had worked for you, to ask him what he could tell us about this department “Chinaboy Chuckles.” He knew nothing, to be frank, stating that its spuriousness or genuineness would be a closely guarded editorial secret, if any. He did, however, in connection with the matter, drop a hint which, if it does not also further confirm the inherent fraudulence in this department, indicates that you are violating your second-class mailing privileges in still another matter.

  He referred to the fact that for a certain subscriber to your magazine, residing in Little Ivington, England—the man, Marceau, in fact, who was murdered over there about a month ago—this “Chinaboy Chuckles” department was regularly cut from his copy, by a safety razor blade. And the copy sent, thus deleted, without further emendations.

  If this is so, please be informed that you were further violating mailing laws, for you are not permitted to mail a violated copy of your publication without first striking out the second-class entry line; nor are you permitted to mail it with that line still printed on the jacket or wrapper. These changes, the young man says, were not made. We would like to hear from you also on this: and also as to whether the subscriber in question, now unfortunately dead, differed with you as to the authenticity of this material and therefore ordered it deleted.

  We will await a personal visit from you, or, if not convenient, a detailed reply.

  Henry Kelkand,

  Second Class Division.

  DOCUMENT LII

  Excerpts from a letter of date January 14, 1937, from X. Jones, 136 Grey’s Inn Road, London, England, to Inspector-General Halbord Wilkins of Scotland Yard, at Spa Grunau, Austria.

  “So I went over a considerable selection of the ‘Chinaboy Chuckle’ items—and clews there were therein—and plenty!

  “Even some apparent ‘clews’ did I find to something—‘clews’ which might have misled one under purely superficial consideration thereof—for in two distinct items Lilliputianism was treated by the author (or translator) as though it were positively a gift of the gods! And which might have indicated that the author—or translator—himself had been a Lilliputian—except that, as it so happens, he was very much not that! And, besides, the two ‘clews’ in question happened to be in copies which were received by Marceau deleted—and hence he never even read those particular items.

  “But, as I said above, clews of another—and far more important and significant kind, at least to Scotland Yard—there were in the material. Here—and there—like plums within a plum pudding...

  “For instance, Chief, in a certain joke which...”

  DOCUMENT LIII

  A selection, from the American Magazine “World Humor,” of items in its monthly department “Chinaboy Chuckles.”

  The doors of a certain new habitation in Foochow had shrunk, as is the way of doors made of unseasoned wood.

  The builder thereof would not send to the habitation an emissary with tools to repair the doors, so the mandarin who resided therein indited with his brush and ink pot the following ironic epistle:

  “Illustrious brother of the Sun and Moon, and Honored Creator of Matchless Habitations: The mice here, at 13 Chen-si Road, Foochow, can run under most of our doors, but our cat cannot follow them. Wilst thou honor thy servant by sending at once a man to make room under the doors for the cat?”

  Foo

  * * * *

  Two Chinese standing
in a long line at a paying teller’s window in the British Importers and Exporters Bank of Hong Kong were discussing things various. The line was long, and they had but moved up only so far as to be but below the great glass dome, with its British Lion portrayed in bits of colored glass. Being in a British bank, the subject of their converse was, most natural, London, and the most peculiar conditions of that city afar across the seas, in which so many of their countrymen lived and worked. “The Englishander game of the football,” was one saying, “is played with a large ball propelled hither and thither by the feet of the players, but it is so foggy in this London, so I do hear, that only recently a contest proceeded on for a half hour before it was discovered that the ball itself was lost.”

  Nimkya (Native Traders’ Gazette) of Hong Kong.

  * * * *

  Little Ling Kew, a small Chinese boy living in the up-to-date part of Hong Kong, had been brought up in a family familiar with all the modern scientific improvements, ranging from devices domestic to such things as the modern British hospital as well as visits from the American medical specialists who practice there. Indeed, Chang Kew, his father, Mrs. Chang Kew, his mother, and their numerous brood of youngsters who arrived so frequently due to Chang Kew’s rich exporting business, wanted for nothing in the way of scientific medical attention. Thus was it that when little Ling Kew fell downstairs and broke his arm, they sent for the usual American doctor who at once ordered Ling Kew to the big British hospital on King Street.

  As the doctor, who spoke Chinese fluently and who had attended Mrs. Chang Kew at the arrival of her various progeny, was lifting the little fellow out of his motor car on King Street, the boy said, “Doctor, must it be—do the Gods decree?—that I go into the hospital?”

  “Yes, my son,” said the American doctor in Chinese, “but worry not, as even your honorable mama can testify, and your papa and all your little brothers and sisters, too, the hospital is a nice place and we will have you soon fixed right again.”

  “But, doctor,” said little Ling Kew, “if I do have to go in the hospital, I do not want a baby—I would like a Chow pup instead.”

  Hong Kong Chug.

  * * * *

  The freshly engaged young Mr. Mei Fu, recent graduate from the college in Peiping, and his fiancée, Sara San Chang, were discussing the spending of their honeymoon.

  “I think, my lotus blossom and pearl of the universe,” remarked the young man, “that three weeks in Java would about fill nicely the bill. We could have great fun there. The cost to us would not be disastrous, for my honorable father would donate. Northern China is cool now—too cool—and we could in Java play the tropic sports.”

  “Ah but no, Mei Fu,” objected his fiancée. “You know I am a bad sailor and I would be most dreadfully seasick.”

  “Love is a preventive of seasickness,” Mei Fu assured her tenderly.

  “Yes, most assured,” agreed the Miss San Chang. But she added, “Forget not, Mei Fu, we have got to come back.”

  Peiping Press.

  * * * *

  By the jade Buddha of Temple Shan Chi, honored friend of my heart, I have lent a tricky mandarin in Canton Street 2000 Mexican trade dollars and he has not given me a receipt. What shall I do?”

  “Write sternly and demand the payment of the 4000 silver pieces.”

  “But most careless listener, it was only 2000 pieces.”

  “I know—but he will indignantly, and with much heat, reply and tell you so. That will be your receipt.”

  Fat-ze of Nanking.

  * * * *

  “Did you hear, most ignoble one, that a mandarin was murdered in the street last night near the temple of Man Chei for his gold and silver pieces?”

  “Ay, most high, but luckily he had no gold and silver on him at the time.”

  The Whei.

  * * * *

  Ruk Lang: “There is great rejoicing in the nearby village of Foon Chau. The wife of old Gow Hip, the town toper, has given birth to twins.”

  Chup Mo: “And is Gow Hip pleased?”

  Ruk Lang: “He does not yet know it; he is so filled with rice wine and brandy that he thinks he sees double.”

  Tze and Tza (Hainan).

  * * * *

  O Chura Ho, a pretty young girl of the new China, residing in Shanghai, was one who found much to her liking the dapper English youths who work in the many banks, counting houses and exporting establishments of Shanghai. And thus it was that one day she had been out walking. On her return her mother queried, “Where hast thou been, pearl of my bosom?”

  “Walking in the park of Huo-Hua,” was Miss O Chura Ho’s reply.

  “With whom?” pursued the mother.

  “No one,” said Miss O Chura Ho, a blush suffusing up to the thin black lines comprising her eyebrows.

  “No one?” repeated her mother. “Then canst explain, O Chura, how is it that thou camest home with a cane instead of thy bamboo parasol?”

  An Whei Advertiser.

  * * * *

  One of the Chino-English banking institutions in Shanghai, which we may for the literary purposes of these China Boy Chucklings designate as the Bank of Nanking and Shanghai, does, like all other banks on the Chinese coast, render loans to good accounts, id. est., to tradesmen who have stable and flourishing businesses. A Chinese named Tsi Fu, who had such a flourishing business on Nagasaki Street dealing in the grain-colored Indian cats, Chow dogs and various parrots and cockatoos much in demand by mandarins and visiting Americans, had an obligatory note coming due, the amount of which was 1000 yen. The day the said note became officially obligatory, he called at the bank, dismounted from his riksha, saw the president, a ruddy-faced Englishander, and told the latter that he was, indeed, sorry, but he could not meet the obligatory note. The Englishander president was shocked, and gave Mr. Tsi Fu a figurative dragging of the body over hot coals, telling him the rules and regulatory precepts of all banks, etc. He ended the conversation by saying sternly: “Have you ever been in the banking business, Mr. Tsi Fu?”

  “No, most esteemed financier,” said Tsi Fu, and added to the Englishander president: “Have you ever been in the business of dealing in India cats, Chow dogs and parokeets?”

  The president said “No.”

  “Ah,” said Tsi Fu, arising, “thou wilt be in the morning.”

  Shanghai Chat.

  * * * *

  Two Chinese vagabonds were wont to lie in the sun on the docks of Hong Kong, occasionally rendering paid assistance in deloading one of the American or Australian liners, but most inebriated on rice wine and telling lies which caused even Buddha to frown.

  Said one, this day, “When I was in Mandalay, I saw an Indian hailing from Delhi who was so black that I had to light a tallow candle to see him in the broad light of day.”

  Said the other yawning: “When I was in Formosa, I lived in the house of a Formosan who was so thin that he had to enter the house twice before he became visible.”

  Hong Kong Chug.

  * * * *

  Heung Lo Hong believed in American medicine, as, living in his youthful years in the black plains of China, he had seen too much death and sickness ensuing from insanitation and native superstitions. So, too, did his wife, Mrs. Heung Lo Hong. He was this day by himself consulting the American doctor, who had resided in Canton for twenty years.

  “Now, doctor,” said Heung Lo Hong, earnestly in his own native tongue, “do not frighten me by giving my illness an unintelligible American name. Just inform to me what is it in plain Chinese.”

  “Well, friend Heung,” said the doctor in fluent Chinese, of which he was master, “to be frank, you are suffering from laziness.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” was Heung Lo Hong’s reply. “And now will you give me the unintelligible American name so that I can inform same to Mrs. Heung Lo Hong.”

  Canton Press.

  * * * *

  Young Mr. and Mrs. Lei had been quarreling, as is a frequent unhappy defect in the evolutionary adjustment
of the early days of marital existence, and the fair O Tsura Lei had retreated into her room in their mutual domicile on the outskirts of Shanghai, slamming behind her the door and maintaining the audible sniffle which accompanies all lamentation. After a quarter hour had elapsed, she summoned her maid, Nima Yun, and inquired:

  “Is my honorable husband still in his room?”

  “Yes, beauteous pearl of Shanghai and mistress of the domicile. He is.”

  “Then sit thou here, Nima, and weep for a few minutes. I am so tired I must fain take a little rest.”

  The Shan of China.

  * * * *

  Visitor (to hostess, wife of an educated official in the Kuominchun government cabinet at Shenshi): “I have never seen such a breed as thy cat. It is indeed strangely marked.”

  Hostess: “Aye, most desirable guest. My estimable master and husband is engaged in the writing of a book, and he looks never where he wipes his brush.”

  Shenshi Sho (Shenshi Topics).

  * * * *

  “Illustrious mother,” asked a small boy of well-to-do parents residing in Swatow, in the province of Kwangtung, “didst thou not instruct the cook always that she must lock up the larder?”

  “Aye, my son and star of my eyes. But why didst thou ask, tiny one?”

  “Because this morning the cook forgot to lock it, and to create for her a lesson have I eaten up all the lichee nuts and almond cakes that I could find in it.”

  Kong-Fu-Tse Tsi (Confucius’ Smile), Peiping.

  * * * *

  A little boy of Hangshan, whose sprained wrist had been relieved by bathing it in rice wine, surprised his mother by asking: “Did my honorable papa ever sprain his throat when he was a little boy?”

  Foo.

  * * * *

  A wealthy mandarin who was exceedingly parsimonious in matters dealing with gold, was called upon by two Chinese who were selling building lots in the outskirts of Peiping. They talked long to him in their efforts to interest him in buying. Then they took their leave.