ted are you when told that chit is simply Asian for
memorandum, in popular phrase, an "I. O. U.," hurriedly penciled and
given in lieu of cash.

Its purpose? Merely to pander to the European's convenience; to
differentiate the white man from brown or yellow, by placing him on the
unassailable pedestal of a person of honor.

"This chit idea is great," says the newcomer. "I don't load my pockets
down with money any more. When I buy a cigar or drink I give a chit, and
that's all there is to it. These Eastern people are away ahead of us in
more ways than one." And he hourly signs innocent memoranda, because of
the convenience. At hotel and club a chit brings what he wants, it sends
a basket of flowers to a charming woman, produces suits of clothing that
he doesn't need, even pays 'rickshaw and chair coolies.

But alas; pay-day comes at the end of the month! And scheme as he may,
the newcomer cannot solve the fiscal problem of making a hundred dollars
settle three hundred dollars of debts. He then comprehends that the
insidious chit is loaded; is pregnant with the disgrace germ, if he
cannot raise the wherewithal to redeem the sheafs of them reposing in a
dozen tills--so many notes going to protest with every tick of the
clock. "I'll write home for funds," he decides; "but how am I to live
while awaiting the remittance?" By giving more chits, only. He does this
with a bold front for another month or so, and is doubly insolvent when
the remittance finally comes to hand. Then he gives still more chits,
and awaits another money supply.

Hong Kong is filled with unfortunate "remittance men," good fellows at
heart, whose downfall dates from their introduction to the chit. A
visitor can read no announcement more pathetic than that conspicuously
displayed in the waiting-rooms of the Kowloon ferry, saying "Positively
no chits received"--and this ruthless pronouncement in connection with a
trip costing but the equivalent of three American cents!

There is commendable practicability in the method employed by large
hotels in the East for placing patrons in a position to connect with
dishes on the bill of fare appealing to their appetites. In Hong Kong
hotels, where young Chinamen knowing practically no English are employed
as waiters, and where elaborate lists of dishes are the order, the plan
is indispensable. It is this: Every dish is indicated on the margin of
the card by a number, and instead of saying to the waiter, "Bring me