V

HOUSEKEEPING PROBLEMS

“WELL, my Dear,” said Mr. Dunlap briskly, one bright spring morning, laying down on the breakfast table “The North China Daily News” which he had been intently perusing, “I have here a list of houses advertised for rent. Suppose we start out and look at some of them.” “Just the thing,” assented Mrs. Dunlap eagerly. “You call the ricshas and I’ll be ready in a minute.” “No, we will go in a carriage. It will take us around more quickly and cost no more for the time we are out. Just think,” he added, “of our being able to hire for a whole day a nice victoria and pony, with driver and footman, for less than a dollar and a half! Life in Shanghai certainly has its advantages.” “Don’t let the driver forget his French license,” called Mrs. Dunlap to her husband as he was hurrying away to make arrangements for the carriage. “That’s so. We may want to go into the French Concession.” “Yes, and we’d rather not be held up as the Blanks were.” Then both laughed merrily at the memory of the experience of their friends who went for a joy ride in celebration of their wedding anniversary, but they had hardly left the International Settlement before a policeman stopped the “mafoo,” and because he had no French license made him drive with the pair to a police station to get one and pay the fine of a dollar, rather an inglorious episode. The Dunlaps were gone all day and returned to their stopping place at night well-nigh exhausted. But the next morning they were out early again, this time to hunt up the office of a real estate company and tell the agent they had decided to take one of his houses. “Good, I will put your name right down on the list of applicants. There are only eleven ahead of you.” “Eleven ahead of us!” exclaimed Mrs. Dunlap in astonishment and dismay. “Why, we supposed the houses that were advertised in the paper had not been rented.” “And so they haven’t,” responded the agent cheerfully. “These are only possible tenants. You stand a good chance of getting the place. Last week I rented a house to the fifteenth party in a list of applicants. All the others, for one reason and another, had dropped their names.”

The couple finally secured a house to their liking, quite new and somewhat out from the centre of the city. The rent being agreed on, the agent added, “You will pay six per cent taxes.” “How is that?” queried Mr. Dunlap. “I am not buying the property.” “No, but here in Shanghai the tenant pays the tax on the house, the landlord on the land. You are getting off cheap. If your house were within the limits of the ‘Settlement’ you’d have to pay twelve per cent in taxes.” “Oh, then we are not in the Settlement? Somebody told me the road in front of the house was a Municipal Council road.” “That’s right. It is. A year or so ago the Council, after hard effort, obtained permission to lay that road through Chinese territory. It is a good road, too, isn’t it? A first class macadamized thoroughfare.” “That is most interesting,” agreed the Dunlaps. “But you say the land on which the house itself stands belongs to the Chinese?” “Yes, they refused to sell it, so the best the company could do was to rent it in perpetuity.” Mr. Dunlap turned to his wife with a smile, “Well, if we get into trouble, we can go out and sit in the road.” “Ha, ha, not a bad idea,” chuckled the agent. “But you will be well protected. The Settlement police patrol the road and Chinese police the territory around it. The Chinese have no desire to see foreigners’ houses looted, for this gets them into trouble.”

As soon as the Dunlaps began moving into their new domicile, they found themselves greatly inconvenienced by the lack of closets, shelves, hooks, and drawers. The house in fact was a mere shell, with roof and walls and little else. However, there was running water, hot and cold, and this is a luxury rarely found outside of Shanghai. Indeed in the older parts of the Settlement hot water for baths is still bought at nearby shops and brought to the home in big wooden buckets suspended from carrying poles on the backs of coolies. Though the wires were laid for electric lights, there were no fixtures. This was an oversight on the part of the contractor that must be rectified at once, so Mr. Dunlap sought another interview with the agent. “We shall be glad to have the fixtures put in as soon as possible,” he urged, “as we are depending for light on two or three small kerosene lamps.” “But we don’t furnish such things.” “What?” “I mean they don’t go with the house.” “So I must buy them?” “Assuredly.” “Well, well, whoever heard of such a thing? But how about the stationary wash-basin for the bathroom, and the draining board for the kitchen, and the—,” “If you have them you get them yourself.” “You see it is like this,” continued the agent goodnaturedly, “Shanghai is very cosmopolitan, and all sorts of people settle here. Some tenants, when vacating a house, have been known to steal the locks off the doors, the chandeliers from the ceiling, and occasionally a stationary bathtub is cut loose and carried away in the dead of the night. Oh no, you wouldn’t do it,” smiling at Mr. Dunlap’s incredulous stare, “but such things happen oftener than you would think.” It was plain then to the Dunlaps that they must begin to furnish their house from the bottom up, or perhaps, to speak more accurately, from the top down. Therefore, their first business was to buy lumber, hire carpenters, and set them to work making pantry shelves, and supplying a few other immediate necessities. Soon the little back court resounded with the noise of hammer and saw.

It was somewhat exasperating to the head of the house, who longed to expedite matters, to have the workmen stroll in about nine o’clock in the morning, or possibly not come at all, leave promptly at five, and spend anywhere from one to two hours and more in the enjoyment of the noon siesta. But scolding was of little avail. Shanghai workmen, particularly since the revolution of 1911 have assumed an easy, independent air all their own and must be borne with as patiently as may be.

The next matter to which the family gave their attention was the buying of furniture. Friends advised them to get it at auction. As the population of Shanghai is a constantly shifting one, auction sales are a common incident of the city’s life. Homes are being broken up every day and parties moving out, perhaps after only a few months’ residence. The easiest, and really the most profitable method of disposing of household effects, which often are practically new, is by auction. Auction sales are very popular with all classes of society and usually draw an eager crowd, but the Dunlaps picked up only a few things in this way, for they found too much time was consumed in the process. Then they were referred to Peking Road. Now Peking Road at its eastern end, where it approaches the Bund, is a very high-toned, aristocratic street, but away toward the west its character changes, and instead of substantial brick office and apartment buildings, the road is lined on both sides with Chinese junk shops. Yet according to the dictionary definition of “junk,” that is not exactly the right word to apply to them either, for far more than mere junk is exposed to the gaze of the curious beholder in the wide open shop fronts, in the dark places at the rear, and in the dusty, musty, low-ceilinged rooms above approached by a ladder-like stairway. “Old Curiosity Shop” might appropriately be written over each one. Most of the goods have been bought up at auction and bear the marks of age in a greater or less degree, though some are new, but it is not the commonplace new things that attract the eye of the average foreigner, who is apt to exclaim at first glance, “What a lot of old trash!” Worming his way in gingerly fashion among the piled up closely-stacked stuff, the reward comes once and again in the discovery of a rare piece of old mahogany or teakwood, or a quaint hit of China or glass, which may be bought at a ridiculously low price. Of course, if the “find” is an article of furniture, some risk is run in carrying it home, and the very fastidious may eschew it altogether, but a good airing and repeated cleansing with disinfectants and soap and hot water, and if necessary, scraping and repolishing, generally render it perfectly harmless.

However, a foreign house can not be furnished throughout from the shops on Peking Road, so after investing in a few small articles like coal buckets and shovels and tongs, Mr. and Mrs. Dunlap finally and firmly resolved to waste no more valuable time hunting for bargains, but to have all their furniture made to order. This sounds very luxurious and a bit extravagant. On the contrary it was the most economical thing that they could do, for they did not order from one of the high-priced English department stores on Nanking Road, but from a Chinese shop on a side street with an entrance and show windows that might have been passed many times without attracting the least notice. The place however had been highly recommended and the work in the end proved quite satisfactory. Mark the words “in the end,” for they are spoken advisedly, since the grand consummation did not occur till more than a year from the time the first order was given. Inside, the shop was found to be much more of an establishment than appeared from the street. It carried a considerable stock of ready-made furniture, but it was from the pictures in the firm’s imported books that the Dunlaps chose their models, then selected their wood, and finally, after considerable haranguing, came to an agreement on prices. Subsequently calls without number were made at the shop by Mr. and Mrs. Dunlap in a vain endeavour to hurry up the work. Sometimes they came upon the elderly head of the firm and his clerks eating their forenoon meal at a table near the centre of the showroom, for according to the usual custom, the clerks were boarded on the premises. But the entrance of a customer in no wise embarrassed them and he was always waited on with the politest attention. One by one the pieces ordered were brought to the house on a hand truck or wheelbarrow, some of the lighter articles being suspended from a carrying pole borne by coolies. After remaining a day or two, back they went, with few exceptions! Either the hat-rack was too short, or the clothes-press shelves were too long, or the bureau drawers wouldn’t open, or the locks didn’t fit. Always something was “ch’a pu to,” just a little wrong, a favorite expression in China which is used to excuse a multitude of faults. One much-doctored upholstered chair was carried to and fro so many times it had finally to be partially re-covered. But the dining table fared the worst. Once it fell off the cart in transit and was broken. Because the wood was not well seasoned, it kept splitting across the top and teetering disconcertingly on uneven legs. Four tables were made in succession before a satisfactory one was produced.

While the patience of the Dunlaps was sorely taxed during this period of waiting, they could not help being deeply impressed with the unfailing good nature and courtesy of the firm, always regretful, ever ready for another trial, though the money loss was their own.

Some of their work, too, was really a pronounced success, as in the case of the sectional bookcases which they patterned after one loaned them by Mr. Dunlap. When the two were set up side by side in the library it was next to impossible to tell them apart.

The absolute confidence of the Chinese in the honour of foreigners was often remarked on in the family. Not for five months after work began and until several hundred dollars’ worth of goods had been delivered was any money asked for or expected. A dishonest person might easily have slipped out of town and left furniture and debt behind him.

One noon, during the period of house-settling, when Mr. Dunlap returned from his office, he was surprised to see a bevy of men at work sodding the lawn, a matter he had not yet had time to consider. He was still more astonished when he learned that this was being done for him by the company of whom he rented his house. There was nothing personal about it. All the company’s property was being treated in the same way. But sod, it seems, could not easily be carried off, while lighting fixtures might!

The Dunlaps did not find it necessary to go to the florist’s in search of plants to beautify the grounds, for street vendors brought them to their door. From the very morning they moved in these men fairly haunted the place. They carried the plants in round, slightly convex baskets, suspended by ropes from a bamboo pole slung across one shoulder. Every time Mrs. Dunlap appeared in sight there they were, an eager, smiling group of them, holding out their flowers and begging her to buy in their best pidgin English. Mrs. Dunlap always shook her head saying, “By and by. Not now. I am too busy.” But one bright day, when the house-wife was unusually occupied with work indoors, an enterprising fellow actually took it upon himself to border the entire garden, and it was a good large one, with handsome plants of many varieties, and ended by placing on the veranda four mammoth potted palms. The effect was charming. Of course Mrs. Dunlap might have ordered the plants taken out of the ground, but what woman would? Instead she gladly paid a little less than the price asked, which was about six dollars. Afterward a neighbour told her that had she happened to have any second-hand clothing to offer the man, he would willingly have taken it in place of money. “Each year I replenish my garden with flowers in that way,” concluded the friend.

The day the Dunlaps ate their first meal in their new home was a very happy one, but before that time two important matters had been attended to by Mr. Dunlap. These were putting in a first-class filter, and covering the floors of the store-room and pantry with zinc which was allowed to turn up around the walls for a foot and a half in order to guard against the encroachments of ubiquitous Shanghai rats. The Berkefeld filter is generally used in Shanghai and is supposed to preclude the necessity of boiling the drinking water. But as every one knows, the “candle” must be carefully washed in boiling water once a week, and as Mrs. Dunlap soon found she could not trust a servant to do this, who might or might not have the water really boiling, or handle the candle without breaking, she attended to it herself.

Among her first callers were the “runners” from several Chinese grocery stores. The nearest secured her patronage. Each morning his man came to receive the day’s orders, and before noon the groceries were delivered in a neat box-tricycle. In addition a daily visit to the market was made by the cook, for the grocery stores in Shanghai carry neither meat nor fresh vegetables. “Just think, we no longer have to depend on tinned butter and milk!” exclaimed Mrs. Dunlap delightedly to her husband soon after their removal to the coast city, as her eyes turned with satisfaction to the neat pat of fresh Australian butter on her pretty Welsh butter dish. The dairies, the best being the European, are carefully inspected by the Municipal Health Department and deliver milk in sealed bottles to insure not being tampered with on the way from the dairy to their destination. Notwithstanding this, never a drop of milk or cream was used on the Dunlaps’ table that had not been scalded. Neither was lettuce indulged in, not even that grown in private gardens, nor any other uncooked vegetable. In view of the ravages of Oriental dysentery and kindred diseases, the family agreed that it was wise to obey the injunctions of foreign doctors and take no risks. Fresh fruit from which the skin could be removed was eaten freely in season, but was dipped in boiling water, or underwent a thorough washing in filtered water before it was set on the table. Strawberries were subjected to a special cleansing process under Mrs. Dunlap’s personal supervision. Placed in a colander, boiling water was poured over them three times, and lastly a solution of permanganate. Later on in her experience Mrs. Dunlap learned of a better and easier way of disinfecting the fruit, and that was to plunge it for an instant into boiling syrup, by which the flavor of the berry was retained and its appearance but little altered. Even after every reasonable precaution had been taken in the matter of food, the Dunlaps were made aware that through the carelessness of servants, and in other ways, they were constantly running serious risks. However, they concluded to do the best they could and then not worry.

Another early caller to put in an appearance was the public laundryman. Shanghai houses are not built with the idea of doing washing at home, except perhaps a few of the small pieces. So it is sent out, and as to just what kind of places, one may possibly be happier not to inquire into too diligently. The public laundries in the International Settlement, it is true, are subject to inspection by the Health Department, but questionable habits are liable to continue notwithstanding. Take, for instance, a Chinese washerman’s manner of sprinkling clothes, which is to fill his mouth with water, then squirt it out through his closed teeth. It is bad enough when the spray falls on hosiery and underwear, but handkerchiefs, napkins—well, Mrs. Dunlap soon found that it was not well under such circumstances to give reins to her imagination. She certainly had no fault to find with the pricelist, paying barely one cent and a half apiece for everything, from a face cloth to the most elaborate white dress. As a rule the clothes were exquisitely laundered, even though the method employed did cause rapid deterioration.

Although the process of setting their house in order was a most tedious one, at last Mr. and Mrs. Dunlap had progressed far enough to be comfortable and feel that they could turn their attention to other and more important matters. At first they were a little disturbed by having to look at the back courts of their neighbours’ houses across the street instead of onto their well-trimmed lawns, for it is usual in Shanghai to build so that all houses may face the south, from which the breeze comes. Then too, Mrs. Dunlap’s soul was somewhat tried by the lines of washing, innumerable as the sands on the sea-shore, hung out to dry on the vacant lots stretching away to the south. But it was at least a more agreeable sight than the coffins lying scattered about on the ground just beyond her east windows, left there, perhaps by perfect strangers to the Chinese landowner, to await a convenient time of burial. A little farther away, Mr. Dunlap passed every morning, in going to his office, a lot which evidently was a favorite spot for depositing the dead. Fresh coffins appeared each morning, most of them tiny ones. Often the baby was not given a coffin at all, but tied in a grass mat which was thrown carelessly on the ground. The bodies are supposed to be gathered up and carted away daily. One seems gradually to get hardened in China to things grown too familiar. The Dunlaps used often to marvel that their surroundings, depressing though they were, did not affect them more.

Mrs. Dunlap’s daily routine began each morning after breakfast by “taking accounts” with the cook. The cook in China does the marketing, and he also gets his commission or “squeeze” as it is popularly called. That is, he buys a pound and half of meat and brings in a bill for two, or he charges his mistress a few coppers more a pound than he has paid. This squeezing business is perfectly understood by both parties, and providing it does not exceed certain bounds, nothing is said about it. Market prices are quoted each morning in one of the Shanghai dailies, and by consulting this and making an occasional visit herself to market, Mrs. Dunlap kept informed as to about what she ought to pay. Whenever the cook began to take undue advantage of her, she did not accuse him of it directly, but a conversation something like the following would ensue: “Ta Shih-fu (Great Assistant), you are paying too much for meat.” “Yes, so I told the butcher, but he won’t take less.” “Then go somewhere else.” Or, “One hundred and four eggs are too many to use in two days for our small family.” “It certainly is a great many but I had to put eighteen into a cake.” “You must use fewer.” “I will try.” Now Mrs. Dunlap knew, and the cook knew that she knew, that he had paid a moderate price for the meat and was charging her for eggs which he never bought or had disposed of himself. But through this indirect method of dealing with him, by no means original with her, she gained her end and saved the face of the Great Assistant. Had he suffered “loss of face” probably nothing would have been said by him at the time, but later he might have appeared before his mistress to announce sorrowfully that his uncle or great-aunt had just died and he must leave at once. Perhaps next day he would be found comfortably installed in a neighbouring kitchen. Occasionally a young housekeeper, new to China, undertakes to do her own marketing and even to dispense with a cook altogether. But after a few days, or at the most a few weeks, she usually gives up the trial she made so hopefully, realizing that as conditions are in China it is next to impossible for a foreign woman to do her own housework.

Following the taking of accounts came giving out “stores” for the day. Housekeepers differ. Some keep nothing under lock and key. Others deal out what is needed in minutest measure, a cupful of rice, a half cup of sugar. Mrs. Dunlap found it expedient to follow a middle course, not putting temptation in the cook’s way by giving him free access to the stores, but at the same time showing that he was trusted by letting him have a fairly liberal quantity at a time. If the supplies disappeared too rapidly she dealt with him after the ordinary indirect fashion. Frequently she and her neighbors helped one another by “comparing notes.” “How long does a fifty pound bag of flour last you?” “How many pounds of sugar do you average in a week?”

Mrs. Dunlap’s cook was an artist in his way. When the spirit moved him he sent his cakes, pies, and puddings to the table ornamented in a style that would do justice to a Fifth Avenue caterer. One day, however, he gave the family a surprise. A cake was served for dinner that had a most peculiar flavor. “I told the cook to use lemon filling, but there is no taste of lemon about this,” declared Mrs. Dunlap, critically sampling a bit of the cake. “No, and there is a strong taste of onion,” said her husband. “Oh, impossible! But yes, there really is!” The cook was called in. “What did you make the filling of?” questioned Mrs. Dunlap. “Onions,” was the prompt reply. “Onions! Why, I told you to use lemon.” “No, the lady said onions, and I am an obedient cook. I always do just as the lady bids.” Then suddenly it dawned on the crest-fallen mistress that she had ordered onion, the Chinese word for that pungent vegetable and for lemon being somewhat alike. But this was not quite as bad as the experiment of a friend’s cook, who, with no malice whatever, but the best of intentions, flavored the soup with kerosene oil, and on another occasion poured a liberal quantity of hair oil into the pudding. As to cleanliness or rather the lack of that admirable virtue in the moral make-up of many otherwise desirable chefs, without question the least said the better. But when a cook is discovered washing his waistcoat in the dishpan, or polishing the stove with a fine tea-towel, if a summary dismissal ensues, can any one blame the sorely-tried house-wife? Many a merry half hour the ladies of the neighbourhood spend over their teacups sharing experiences both amusing and tragic. The longer Mrs. Dunlap lived in China the more she realized that while the “servant problem” in the Orient is not solved, as many in Western lands seem to think it is, yet the excellencies of Chinese servants are many and pronounced. These are more noticeably away from the coast cities, and were more general before the recent revolution, and even before 1900, but the sterling good qualities of the better servants are still worthy of the highest praise. Where will more devoted, faithful service be found? Were the children sick at night, or was Mr. Dunlap leaving the city by a midnight boat or an early train, the servants were on duty, eager and willing without a word of complaint.

One time the Dunlaps arrived home from a journey at midnight to find a hot supper awaiting them. It had been ready since seven o’clock when the family was expected, but by some occult process known only to the cook, the food had been kept from burning or drying up during the intervening hours. The men were blinking and heavy-eyed, but absolutely good-natured.

It was a never failing comfort to Mrs. Dunlap to be able to announce the arrival of unexpected guests to the servants without the shadow of a fear of any unpleasantness. Indeed, the larger the number, the happier was the cook, for the more he had to buy the bigger his “squeeze.” Still a great amount of extra work was often involved, which was always taken as a matter of course. The “boy” delighted to decorate the dining table, and if left to his own devices a favorite diversion was to write on the tablecloth, with colored rice and flower petals, characters meaning love, happiness, long life, and peace.

But it was when the Dunlaps gave their house-warming that the servants’ virtues shone the brightest. To save time, the small cakes, toothsome and delicate, were bought at a foreign bakery. To save money, though there are caterers in Shanghai, the ice-cream was made at home. Freezers were borrowed from neighbors, and late in the afternoon a busy scene was enacted in the little courtyard. The cook had called in coolies from the street, and “boys” from the houses around, and all were soon grinding away as if for dear life. Ice can always be had in Shanghai. The Dunlaps often observed with interest that whenever the neighboring ponds were encrusted with ice, even half an inch thick, the Chinese cut it carefully away and stored it in nearby sheds. This broken ice sells for much less than the foreign artificial ice, which however comes in cakes and is much better. Mrs. Dunlap ventured to ask the cook if the cream would keep till a late hour. With a lordly wave of the hand the Great Assistant replied, “Leave that to me, Lady. Leave that to me.” And she knew she could.

Meanwhile the boy had been given the responsibility in the dining-room. Mrs. Dunlap laid on the table extra silver. “Here are so many forks, so many spoons,” she explained. “Strange men will be in the kitchen this evening. The silver is in your care.” That was all, and she never gave it another thought. Had a piece been missing, it would shortly have been returned. How, and from where, who knows? The secret service system of Chinese servants is a mystery to foreigners.

That night before going upstairs Mrs. Dunlap was respectfully requested to look at the silver, washed and neatly piled on the sideboard. The tired boy would not sleep until she had inspected it and declared it all right.