CHINA’S BRIGHT YOUNG MAN

Hokitika Guardian, 13 September 1929, Page 7

CHINA’S BRIGHT YOUNG MAN

(By G. 0. Dixon in London “Daily . , Mail.”) Chang Hseuh-liang, the Manchurian dictator who has come into conflict with Moscow, is China’s bright young man. A son of the late Chango Tso-lin. tlie tiny ex-bandit who ruled North China like an emperor for 25 years, the younger Chang is a sturdily built fellow of 28. He has a strong chin, a somewhat receding forehead, and a quick, impetuous manner. Altogether a man of action rather than a diplomat. t-lis father, though he began as a loader of Hunghutzes (brigands), was first and foremost a statesman. He knew to a nicety just how far lie could go with the Reds in the north and the Japanese in the south without inviting trouble.

The Young Marsha,l—they always call him the Young Marshal, as if the office were hereditary and he were born baton in hand—is not so tactful. Ho began by shooting two of his father’s most trusted generals o.nd advisers; and ff it be true that he was designed merely for a figurehead, the impetuosity, not to say ferocity, with which he has over-rid-den his supporters must by this' time have disillusioned them.

Chang was always a gambler, as a Chinese despot must be, and I hear that every year his passion for poker and Mah-Jongg grows and the strikes soar higher. When I knew him four years ago he was a healthy young leader of cavalry, keen on tennis and golf. The last time I saw him in Mukden he wore a white sweater with a black V,. well-cut trousers, and a pair of black-and-white shoes which Hennessey might have envied. At the end of a long talk he offered me a lift down to the Mukden Club in' what he described as a car of incredible power. I found outside an aged vehicle, driven by a soldier and guarded by four more soldiers who clung to the footboard.

“This.” observed the Young Marshal, as he courteously brushed a sixshooter front the seat, “is a very peaceful country.” The car jerked into motion, and as wc lurched and swayer round corners on two wheeland roared down the narrow, unformed street Chang politely bellowed information.

“The- roads have been improved and many new buildings erected,” he shouted with pride, indicating some scaffoldings that flashed by. “The population of Mukden since my father came has increased front four millions to forty millions.” “Forty millions?” I echoed, involuntarily betraying doubt. The Young Marshal pondered. Figures never mean much to a Chinese.

“Well, four millions,’ he conceded generously. “The soil,’’ he went on “is also of wonderful richness.”

Opening my mouth to agree, I was nearly choked by the thick, yellow dust that swirled about us, and after a hurried analysis simply nodded. The car jerked up, the bodyguard sprang to attention, and I climbed out-.

“The laws and trade, also,” the Young Marshal continued, “have been greatly improved—would you like to play poker? Yes?” “No,” I said, and on that firm and thrifty note—for I had heard of the young Chang's poker—l departed.*