“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Seryozha, scornfully. “A little more, you say. Why, you haven’t rearranged your ideas at all—for all my explaining everything. … Don’t you realize we’re rich now? Three hundred and fifty yen from Seoul (it’s settled on Tanya in the deed, to be sure, but only in case of my death and of course I shan’t die—I feel as if I shall live to be a hundred and twenty-seven), and two thousand yen dowry. … And all through Mr. Chew’s cleverness. Why, we shouldn’t be giving him too much or beggaring ourselves if we gave him half the Seoul money. … He arranged everything about the journey. It’s his doing that Tanya and I are here safe and sound; his knowledge of Chinese science made all the difference to Tanya’s state of health, and he arranged that she and I should meet; he drew up our marriage paper and arranged the money side of it; he went to Seoul and got twice as much money out of Gavril Ilitch as you or I would have dreamed of—and then his scientific knowledge gave you back your sight, papa. … Why, what we owe him is beyond thinking—and you go talking about a little tip, as though he were a coolie. …”
New sight had made Old Sergei more easy to abash. The world seemed more menacing, now that he could see it.
“Well, of course he has done a great deal. … I don’t want to be mean. … Let me see, the arrangement was fifty sen a day over and above his expenses (which I suppose you have already paid)—and ten percent on the hundred and fifty yen interest on the Seoul money. … Fifty sen a day for four weeks … that’s fourteen yen—and the ten percent makes fifteen yen—twenty-nine yen we owe him actually. … Yes, you are right, it does seem poor pay for so many benefits, now that we can afford more. … But we aren’t millionaires, Seryozha, you know. … Well, supposing we give him a present of a hundred yen over and above what we owe him—say, a hundred and thirty yen altogether … that’s roughly half. … Yes, I think we may say that’s due to him.”
His unpractised eyes, blinking at the sunset in the doorway, saw Wilfred’s figure pass across it. Wilfred was walking up and down the chicken-yard musing, alarmed chickens splashing from under his feet.
“Mr. Chew,” quavered Old Sergei. “Tell him, Seryozha (you have the money ready in your hand, haven’t you?)—tell him that we have been discussing the great success that has attended everything that he has undertaken on our behalf, and that we beg him to accept a little present of a hundred yen, over and above the actual salary—as a little token of our gratitude. Say it graciously in your best English, Seryozha. …”
Seryozha’s blood ran cold at the very idea of saying or doing anything graciously, and blushing crimson, he blurted out, “My papa speak—and I speak also—thank you most indeed for being most kind and wise indeed. All very good. Horosho, horosho. We pay a present of a hundred yen—here, please, take—also the thirty yen we speaked before. See this paper.”
“I refuse it,” said Wilfred, immediately. “With many thanks but without the slightest hesitation I refuse the present. Twenty-nine yen is what you owe me, not thirty. As for the present—no.”
The sunset, pouring into Wilfred’s eyes across the chicken-house during his walk up and down the yard, had exalted him—inspired him with a feeling of kinship with suns and saints. He was transfigured by the splendor of himself—his self-satisfaction had found a new self to be satisfied with. The Reverend Oswald Fawcett was for the time being undisputed king of his soul. It was absurdly easy to be good.
“I refuse this present,” repeated Wilfred, “as I would refuse the half of your fortune, should you offer it to me. I am above presents. I have no fear of poverty, believing in the following motto—‘Do good and no evil shall touch you.’ Saggay Saggayitch, please note carefully what I am going to say and translate it all, accurately, to your father and mother—and to any other interested party. If I have helped you—and there is certainly no doubt that I have—it is because I was sent to help you. I have this quite clear in my mind now; in the light of this beautiful sunset illumination, I have enjoyed a kind of revelation. I have been divinely sent, to help you all over your lame dog’s stile. It is no merit—no favor of mine—all that I have done,” continued Wilfred—and truly he felt triumphantly humble on his own behalf. He was conscious for the first time of his littleness—conscious of the tremendous garment of Christianity that he had tried on, and flaunted himself in, so many times, and now, for the first time, seriously donned. He was conscious of this great magic grafted fruit of English righteousness, swelling and ripening round that small indigestible pip that was Wilfred Chew.
“If you only knew,” he said, “how improbable it was that I should come to Chi-tao-kou—to Manchuria at all, indeed—Sir Theo Mustard had changed his plans by the barest chance—but there is no such thing as chance, however bare. Chance is the Lord’s choice. I have proof of being thus chosen. The catching of that fish, Saggay Saggayitch—three times did I dream that exact scene, in advance, and, dreaming, heard a divine voice saying ‘Wilfred Chew, the inside of this fish can cast out devils and heal the sick.’ The Lord was choosing me … as His man of business, so to speak, to make your paths straight … If I had been sent by a human benefactor, of course, as a lawyer I should not dream of giving away his secrets—even if he were a king, I would be discreet, despising advertisement of any kind. It is good to keep close the secret of a king, but it is honorable to reveal the works of God. Saggay Saggayitch—I am a work
