The Chinaman’s Spider.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 838, 23 March 1888, Page 10

The Chinaman’s Spider.

Mr Charles C. Roth-well, in ‘Belgravia.’ The following story is told by a Mr Robertson, a middle-aged bachelor of property, and a collector of bric-;t-brac, at whose chambers Wang Ho suddenly makes his appearance : —* Whang Ho (such I gathered was his name) was no common juggler. In his heart he despised the trumpery tricks of his profession, the swallowing and reproducing dodge and others of the same kind, and resorted to them only as a pastime when there was nothing else on hand. Whilst I was at breakfast on the following morning (the preparation of which had been greatly delayed owing to the prostrating fright my gyp received when she unsuspectingly entered the pantry before I had time to warn her of "the new lodger), Whang Ho gave me a foretaste of the quality of his magic. At the ontset, after his obeisances, he betrayed a tendency to recur to his last night’s legerdemain, and would have laid hands on my egg and the water-jug. hut I interposed and expostulated a little testily.

‘ Now, my good fellow, if that’s all you can do in the way of conjuring—swallowing things and so forth —the soon we part the better. It’s not a form of conjuring I am partial to ; and besides, you needn’t have troubled to come all the way from China to show me tricks I can see any day at the Crystal Palace for sixpence.’ An expression of pained bewilderment came into Wang Ho’s almond eyes. ‘Meesta Lobinson no likee makes come—makee go —poof?’ he asked sadly, with a shake of his head. ‘ No,’ 1 retorted, ‘he doesn’t —not that common sort. But if you have any other kind of ‘ makee come—makee go,’ produce it at once.’ He brightened up and smiled on me with all his teeth. ‘Velly good—velly god ! Saha—poof ! See !’ My handkerchieF was lying on a chair, and as Wang Ho delivered himself of his usual formula of conjuring gibberish, ‘ Saha—poof !’ he held out a yellow finger about a foot above my bandana, and I saw, to my unutterable hoiror, a fat red hairy spider scramble out of its folds and clamber, swinging, up an invisible filament suspended from the Chinaman’s finger-tip. When the nauseous insect was safely lodged in the_ hollow of Wang Ho’s palm, he brought it toward me, and I could not help staring at it in fascinated disgust. Whang Ho,’ said I, ‘ throw that handkerchief into the fire.’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘No moree spider—onlee one,’ and he held up one finger and spread out the empty handkerohief to reassure me. Bnt for all that I had it burnt. That spider of his was his ohief claim to distinction. It was his ‘ familiar,’ and he oherished it and fed it with oonstant solicitude, lodging it in various portions of his person as its fanoy dictated. I think it must also have been of Chinese birth, for its appearance was distinctly Oriental and repulsive. One of the queerest and cruelest exhibitions I ever witnessed waa a game Whang Ho played with Yangtse. Having manufactured half a dozen ingenious paper fly traps and baited them with sugar, my Chinaman dispersed them about the room and waited for a victim. A sheet of paper was spread on the table as a sort of diminutive arena, in the centre of which Yangtse lay in bloated patience, expecting the play to begin. It began "when the first fly _ was caught. Deftly stripping off one of its wings, Whang Ho dropped it down by the side of Yangtse, where it looked a mere dwarf. Wild with terror, the wretched inseot buzzed and flutteied, hopping away in short flights from the redhaired monster who leisurely straddled after it and headed it constantly toward the middle of the arena. In a few moments the fly became paralysed with fright, and as it lay helpless the gieat hairy ghoul strode over it and stood there triumphing on its six shaggy legs. At this point the proceedings terminated abruptly, to the astonishment of Whang Ho, and very nearly to the death of Yangtse, who was picked out of the grate by his dismayed master and tenderly examined and brushed free from ashes ; nor was the exhibition repeated on any subsequent occasion, in my chambers at least. I have frequently seen and admired the wonderful dexterity which the Japanese conjurers exhibit in their fan and buttefly trick; but I must confess that Whang Ho’s performance far surpassed all I had ever seen. There was even something uncanny in the lifelikeness which he imparted to his paper butterflies ; for he disdained the use of the fan. With a knife or his finger nails he would cut and crimp a scrap of tissue paper into the resemblance of a large butterfly.; and after appearing to nurse and warm it into life between his palms, aiding the deception by often glancing tentatively at it through his fingers, he would suddenly unclose his hands with a swift gesture, and away would float and flutter the butterfly with all the zigzag uncertainty of movement natural to it. A much funnier spectacle, and quite as quaint as the one in which Yangtse and the fly had taken unequal shares, was a mimic fight between a tissue butterfly and the spider. The cloth was removed from the table, and Yangtse having been placed on the slippery surface, Whang Ho pitted one of his butterflies against his spider, giving life and activity to it by a dexterous waft of his hand ; now here, now there. The butterfly hopped and flutteied about like a living thing ; and Yangtse tinkled to and fro on the table in pursuit like the vicious thing be was ; but it was always just out of tys reqcfl, jtist behind him or

I above. If he could have done it, I believe r ho would have screamed with passionate malice, so savagely disappointed did he seem at his inability to overtake the tantalising insect. I was busy one forenoon at my desk transacting the quarterly business connected with my dividends, when Whang Ho, who had been sitting placidly doing nothing at my elbow, picked up a £2O note from the table and was proceeding to crumple it between his fingers when I interrupted him. ‘ Put that down, Whang Ho.’ ‘ Me wantee makee fly—poof !’ ‘ Perhaps so. But I can’t afford to let you * makee fly ’ with £2O notes. That represents money,’ I Baid tapping the note impressively. ‘Mulley?’ Such was his puerile pigeon English for money. ‘ Muchee mulley ?’ ‘ Well, a large sum. Probably more than you ever possessed at one time in your life.’ He took it up reverentially, fingering it with an expression of awe, while 1 sat enjoying his naive surprise perhaps a little consequentially. With a sudden burst of innocent entreaty he said —' Meesta Lobinson, givee me ?' Givee you,. Whang Ho ?’ No, my child, I can’t givee you. Too muchee mulley, Whang Ho, to give away, even to you.’ I was about to possess myself of the document, but he pleaded with such volubility to be permitted to ‘ makee fly,’ assuring me he would do nr, harm to it, that I consented. Dexterously twisting it into the form of a butterfly, lie cast it off and followed the great costly insect in its flight round the room, and, letting it settle on the table, would have pitted Yangtse against it. but I interposed. I had stood the strain of anxiety long enough as I watched a portion of my income fluttering up and down in the air, but when it came to risking a £2O note in combat with a savage and revengeful spider, I could remain an idle spectator no longer, and having secured the document locked it up in my desk. For some reason or other (yet why prevaricate? it was owing to a twinge of gout), I found myself unable at first to fall asleep tdat night, and when sleep did visit me it was troubled and light, 1 have to congratulate myself that it was so, otherwise I should not have been awakened by the faint sound of a footfall in my tiny hall (my chambers are, of course, on one flat). I heard it, and sat up to listen. A distant city clock chimed and struck two, and then the si'enee returned again. Something very light and very cautious crept across the panels of my door, like the exploring touch of fingers. I j 'imped promptly out of bed and stumbled over toward the door, unlocked and opened it. The hall was bl .nk and dark, and though I am short-sighted I felt satisfied that there was nobody about. In response to my tentative inquiry. ‘ Anyone there ? Is that you Whang Ho ?’ no answer was returned. Although convinced that I had been deceived by my fancy, 1 determined to make assurance doubly sure by a glance into my library, where the valuables were kept. Opening the door cautiously, I peered, in, saw that all was quiet, and was about to withdraw, when I was attracted by a spot of white on the carpet. What was it ? amoonbeam ? No. An aim less curiosity impelled me to examine it closer, and I stepped forward. Two paces brought me near it, and the third set my naked foot down on some small horrible object that, as I crushed it out, writhed and sent a sharp pain tingling up my leg. I knew by inspiration that I had steeped on and killed the Chinaman’s spider. I turned and fled, shuddering. Some time elapsed before I went back to the room with a light. There was Yangtse, dead—-a thing to dream of, not to look upon ; and beside him on the carpet—the white object which I had seen —was my £2O bank note, in robbing me of wiich the spider had met a hideous but merited death ; for I found that Yangtse had roped himself by several filaments of web to one edge of the note at a spot where a dot of bee’s wax had been privily fixed, no doubt by the rascally Chinaman, in order to afford his spider accomplice a secure hold. The beast had made his entry into my desk by way of the round hole in which my inkbottle usually ies, but which had been accidentally left open by its removal on the previous afternoon : and probably guided by the bee’s wax, which Whang Ho must have affixed whilst innocently sporting with the document, Yangtse, who, I admit, for a spider was as intelligent as he was repulsive, had dragged the paper after him, its lightness aiding him in his nefarious proceeding. Then I went in search of Whang Ho. I found him doing his best to appear sound asleep, with a plaintive smile on his lips. Probably he intended that I should think him to be dreaming of his far-away home and his sainted grandmother, whom he would never see more. ‘ No suehee foolee, Whang Ho,’ said I in a low voice, ‘ You’re no more asleep than I am. You were in the hall a little while ago. I heard you. You set your spider to rob me. But I caught him, and he's dead now. You and I are going to part, Whang Ho.’ He sat up at once and lost his smile, without any pretence of awaking. * Killee Yangtse !’ ‘ Stepped on him ; crushee,’ said I laconically. He got up from his bed, and I saw that he had his shoes and clothes on. I took him by the elbow and walked him into the library," and showed him his spider and the note, just as they had lain. When he realised that his spicier was actually dead he blazed up into a maniac fury, and screaming out, * You killee Yangtse, me killee you!’ flung himself madly upon me and bore me to the ground. After a keen struggle, putting forth what the novelists call a superhuman effort, I managed to get him down and sit on him, while I panted back my breath and recovered my strength. Then we closed again, and did our best to break or pound one another into pieces. But as it is the universal opinion that there can be no question of superiority in a fight between an Englishman and any other man, I ultimately reduced Whang Ho and sat on him ag&in, very much myself the worse for wear. Little by little, with frequent interludes of struggle, I dragged him towards the outer door, and having with difficulty and danger unbarred it, cast out my Chinaman into the common passage and bolted myself in again. Must I confess that for a week and more I went about like a Cabinet Minister in fear for my life, with half a mind to apply for police protection against a possible assault at the hands of a Oelestia} assassin ! But down to the present I am still in the land of the liv- . ing, though in a coqatant recurring doubt as

to what the morrow may bring forth, and whether it will take the dreaded shape of Whang Ho, the Chinaman.