CHARLIE SING. 



For ways that are dark, 



And for tricks that are vain, 



The heathen Chinee is peculiar. — Harte. 



Charlie Sing was a Chinaman. He was the pro- 

 prietor of what Ragan called a four tub shop in the 

 rear of the stable in Albany where I wintered the bay 

 horse in 1887-8. The Chinaman and Ragan, the fore- 

 man of the stable, were friends. It was a peculiar 

 mixture, but one that is apt to occur under the Ameri- 

 can flag where all men — this includes Chinamen — are 

 free and equal, if they behave themselves. At all 

 events, Ragan said Charlie Sing was a good China- 

 man, and as Ragan was a clever Irishman and a 

 splendid hater, I accepted it. As the winter wore 

 along I learned that Charlie Sing had money and that 

 he knew how to keep it. He was not one of the fan- 

 tan playing, opium smoking variety, but an up-to-date 

 worker, even if he could not make himself understood 

 in English. He had a small stock of words that he 

 could roll out with the usual double e on the end of 

 them, but I soon found that he understood about all 

 that was said and could, with his slender stock of 

 English and a bunch of signs, carry on a busy conver- 

 sation with Ragan. 



Ragan was not what you might call proud of his 

 Mongolian friend, still he considered Charlie Sing an 

 exception, and in speaking of him always closed his 

 remarks by saying that Charlie was "bound to get 



