Whoever says "No man can be a hero to his own valet" is wrong, for the I.G. was undoubtedly a hero to his whole household--modesty notwithstanding. Most of his servants remained with him for thirty years, and at the end one and all gave him an excellent "character." "We have found you a very satisfactory master," said they--which sounds strange to us, but is the Chinese way of doing things. No wonder they said so. He had such a horror of asking too much from those he employed that he was far too lenient with them. His ear was too attentive to their stories, his purse too open to their borrowings. When their relatives died--and in China each man has an army of them, including duplicate mothers and grandmothers--boys, cooks, coolies and bandsmen rushed to "borrow" from him. I cannot remember hearing that one ever came to repay.
At last this fact struck even the I.G., long-suffering though he was. "Why do you not ask me to give you this amount?" he mildly expostulated to the next man who came pleading for the funeral expenses of his brother's son's wife.
"Oh," replied the fellow, pained and grieved at his master's want of understanding, "I couldn't do that. If I did I should lose 'face'"--that is, prestige and standing in the community. On such a slender thread hangs self-respect in the Far East.
The old butler, a Cantonese with the manner of a courtier, was even more privileged than the rest--and for the best of reasons. He had been with his master for almost half a century. His memory was wonderful, and sometimes on winter nights when he had helped to serve the I.G.'s solitary and frugal dinner, he would presume on his position, linger behind the other servants, and call up again to the I.G.'s mind the night in 1863--just such a bitter night as this, with just such a howling wind--when together they had gone to meet Gordon, and the sampan taking them ashore had capsized, throwing them both into the icy water.
Occasionally then the I.G. would retaliate with reminiscences of Ah Fong making the Grand Tour of Europe with him in 1878--how he kissed his hands to the winning French chambermaids, and called out "Allewalla, Allewalla!" ("Au revoir, au revoir!"), or how he had answered the horrified ladies of Ireland who inquired about his duties,--"Morning time my brush master's clothes, night time my bring he brandy and water."