“No, I didn’t catchee ’em and if you don’t catchee ’em for me right now youse ’ell catchee a couple of ’em in the eye, I’m a thinkin’.”
Sing had seen what Bill had done to Black Pete and he had a very wholesome respect for this boy with the “velly badee facee,” so he hustled out into the kitchen and was soon back with an enormous bowl of beans, which he set on the table.
“What’s this?” questioned Bill sharply.
“Alaska stlawbellies, allee samee you havee tonlight for slupper.”
“Holy cat!” cried Bill in an awful voice. “I’ve been stung!”
Sing in the meantime had become very much alarmed over the misunderstanding but when he heard Bill guffawing in appreciation of the joke, he joined in heartily. Bill had learned two things; namely, what Alaskan strawberries are, and that a Chinaman has a sense of humor.
There was a larger gathering of the Northmen in the Grand Palace Hotel that night than there had been since the last election. They came in like spooks at a séance, apparently materialized out of thin air, but unlike the latter, you would have to admit that they looked mighty like hard and fast, flesh and blood human beings; and further they refuse to dematerialize until they had seen what they came forth to see.
As was his wont, Rip Stoneback, who had been prospecting for gold in these parts for the last quarter of a century but whose innumerable disappointments had not affected his musical talent, was on the platform, but he was not fiddling. René and his big brown bear were there too but they were not executing any fancy steps or doing any funny stunts, for the gathering that night were neither interested in the goddess of music, nor of the dance, nor, again, of comedy.
What they were there to see was a man’s game that had originated in the primeval world, had been handed down while man was in the process of development, and has since bided in communities that are far more cultured than Circle. It was the old spirit of the fight that called them and they were there to a man.
The tables, which were always scattered round the hall, where divers and sundry games with the pasteboards were played of an evening, had all been set back against the walls and the chairs piled up around them. Just why Doc Marling had seen fit to move them off the floor was not apparent unless he thought it was going to be a sprinting match instead of a pugilistic contest. There was enough room in the hall for a dozen squared rings.