You should mutter sullenly into your glass, cursing the serving woman (Witch! Hag! Poison!) or the vodka (Poison! Bitch!), as the one pours you another glass of the other.
They spoke in low voices so I would not hear what they were saying.
From early childhood this second Ma had heard such unbelievable stories about the Ha-mi melons grown in Sinkiang that he was at last setting out to see them for himself. Sipping tea at a roadside inn, the two passed the time of day and soon waxed friendly.
So far as our Iron Bridge is concerned, stated the Ma of Lan-chou, it is the highest yet. At this date last year a man fell over the side and, when I left, his body had not yet reached the water.
H-m-m, murmured the Ma of Ha-mi. Yes, that's high. But as far as our melons are concerned, you are wasting your time traveling all the way to Ha-mi to see them. They grow to such a size, you know, that by this time next year they will be with you in Lan-chou.
Sinkiang (Hsin-chiang) has often been called the New Dominion, and to Chinese, exaggerations notwithstanding, this new frontier land has for centuries been full of the wonderful, the picturesque, the bizarre, the new. In the olden days one who brought Ha-mi melons to the capital of the Middle Kingdom would merit special favor, and even today the clippers that soar across Northwest China from Sinkiang to Szechwan inevitably carry a few, now and then, as rare delicacies for the people of Chungking.
