In no time at all, the new kid in the teashop was declared a hit.
Customers loved him and his grin. They blew on their steaming tea and listened intently as he told them naughty stories of his faraway hometown.
They chuckled as he described how he and his friends would scatter nails on the road, run up the slope, and wait for cars to puncture their tyres. Each time a car screeched to a halt, the boys exploded with glee. The shocked motorists thought the mountains were laughing at them.
The little boy’s name was Wai Dablyu, and his co-workers liked him too. Well, he did most of their work for them, didn’t he?
See how he slogs! they cried. But it really didn’t matter as long as they could stretch out their legs while the little fellow completed their chores for them.
Wai Dablyu was a sturdy-looking chap with muscular arms and legs. “That’s how it is in the mountains,” the co-workers told each other. “They run up and down those slopes all the time! And they work hard, you know.”
The teashop owner was a bit worried, though. There’s a law against getting little boys to work. That’s what his friend Chachilojan told him. He knew some people who’d been sent to jail just because they made children work.
“It’s child labour! That’s the most terrible thing to do,” said Chachilojan, who ran an eatery opposite the teashop. “You never know when the Guvmant will come!”
Stock taking
And as if they had heard him, the “Government” turned up the next morning. Two tall, thin men with spectacles and ties, looking very nasty indeed. Chachilojan watched eagerly from his eatery across the road as the two men marched into the teashop.
He himself had no customers in his shop because everyone preferred the teashop opposite. But he told his workers: “See! I told him! The Guvmant has come!”
The two men looked sternly at the teashop owner. “Child labour! That’s the most terrible thing to do!” The teashop owner shivered in fright, trying to remember where he had heard those words before.
But Wai Dablyu didn’t seem worried at all. His grin stayed in place, screwing up his eyes. He looked as mischievous as ever. He took the two nasty-looking gentleman to the pokey little room at the back of the shop.
The teashop owner hissed, “What’s he up to now?”
One of Wai’s co-workers scampered away and peered in through the little window high up on the wall. He scampered back to the teashop owner and said, “He’s showing them some papers.”
“What papers?” hissed the owner.
“I couldn’t see what papers,” hissed back the co-worker.
Anyway, whatever Wai Dablyu showed the two men seemed to work, because they went away quietly. Wai grinned. “Don’t worry. I showed the Guvmant my papers.”
From across the street, Chachilojan scowled. “How did he manage that?” he snapped.
Little boy?
Two days later, a fat man with a big moustache and a big, black hat strode into the teashop. He shouted at the owner: “What have you done with my boy?”
“What boy? Which boy?” sputtered the owner.
“I’m the circus manager,” yelled the fat man. “My dwarf escaped. They say you’ve got him in your shop.” He saw Wai in the doorway and screamed: “That! That’s my dwarf!”
The teashop owner said, “That’s no dwarf! He’s just a little boy!”
“Ask him!” screeched the fat man.
“Wai, come here. You’re just a little boy, aren’t you? How old are you?”
Wai Dablyu grinned. “Twenty-five years,” he said.
