Our route is a devious one. We wind in and out of highways and byways, cross canals and thread evil-smelling courts, till I am bewildered beyond measure. At length we stop, turn to the right, and ascend to the top of as ramshackle an old Dutch dwelling as the mind can conceive. The house, from garret to cellar, is alive with Chinamen, each of whom seems to be filled with an intense desire to know what I am doing there. They interrogate my companion, but he is a man of business, and has no time to waste on idle gossip. Beckoning me to follow him, he scuds up the stairs and disappears into a room on the right, closing the door behind him. I attempt to follow, but the door is barred in my face. After waiting five minutes I begin to think I’ve been trapped — but no — the door opens and I am invited to enter .
It is only a little room, but it is filled chock-a-block with Chinamen. As I show myself, an old fellow pushes his way through the crowd, and comes towards me, jabbering incessantly. Under my careful supervision, he examines, tests, and weighs the chain, and evidently gives my companion considerable advice thereon. At the end of his harangue I am allowed to understand that the bargain is completed. The old fellow, who is undoubtedly a man of considerable importance, counts out the sum in guilders, and I prepare to receive it. There are the cases, and the amount of the purchase cannot be paid over until they are found intact. We return to the hotel Backup and Recovery Plan .
Once there, the boxes are recovered and carefully examined, and not till then is the price of the chain handed over. When it is, we are the richer by four pounds five shillings, making a total sum of ten pounds thirteen. Next day, our studs and rings bring us in another fifty shillings, and this done, we are in a position to meet our engagements in Java, and proceed upon our way.
A boat is expected in a few days from Colombo to coal, en route for Thursday Island. We book passages by her, and begin to feel that we are at length nearing our destination.
Earlier in the chapter I promised a reference to Malay servants. I give it now, and in the giving beg to be allowed to say that I know what I’m talking about hotels in kowloon hong kong.
First and foremost, the Malay may be summed up in a very few words: he is idle, slovenly, and hopelessly immoral. In spite of any personal inconvenience it might cause him, he would rather deceive you than not. He detests work, and he prefers sitting on your doorstep, expectorating designs on the pavement, to earning any number of guilders by honest labour. His duties as chambermaid are insults to your common sense. He doesn’t make your bed because your bed doesn’t require making: he simply punches the pillow into shape, and slaps the mattress; then he empties your basin out of the window, regardless of passers-by, wipes the dust off your boots on your best pair of trousers, and if he takes anything away to brush, nine times out of ten fails to bring it back. If asked for it, he swears by all his heathen gods he never saw it. That’s the Malay all over!
