CHINO ONG AND MORO SAYID
I
HAD noticed that
the pearling folk, were all much keener on disposing of their
mother-of-pearl shell than of their pearls. I discovered the reason for
this. The removal of the mud-covered shell meant a clean boat, leave
for the crews, and an assurance to the owner that none of his catch
would vanish while his back was turned. Hence the M.o.P. was sold
first. But the wily Chinaman wouldn't let it go at that. He had to see
the pearls, and once he saw he bought. I therefore had to get into the
pearl-shell game too. Well, I had laid my plans and was ready to bid
against any Chinaman, for whereas they were buying for the Singapore or
Hong Kong market, my buying mandates came from London and New York, the
Ultima Thule of the trade. The Chinese did not know that. But as
I wanted to play the game, I went round to the Chinese merchants and
told them I had commissions to buy shell and would prefer to buy from
them rather than from the fishers. Their reply was never a plain "No."
That is not the Chino way. A smile, a smirk, a "we shall see"—"not this
time, better luck next month. . . ." That is their refusal.
But
I had undertaken to supply pearl-shell and pearl-shell I must get. I
set up a mimeograph, and as my cabled quotations came in I offered
tip-top London and New York prices to every fishing man. In fact I
often offered 20 per cent, more than the Chinos could themselves get
from their correspondents. That made them sit up. But still they knew
I had no storage room and thought they had me there.
But
on the other hand, to their consternation I took into my service old
Ong, a wizened worldly wise Chinaman, who had grown gray in the service
of the leading Chinese traders, but had been cast adrift by them for
some offense connected
77
Flickr
Stumbleupon
Scribd
