“‘Come away! Come away, Papalagi!’
“I saw that the kiddie didn’t like the look of that man of my race, who leered towards her, and touched her smooth arms. Then Deny and he became reminiscent as they discovered they were both familiar with Fleet Street. I must say I felt a bit ashamed of my comrade, as he too lurched forward and nudged that vile Britisher in the ribs. It was plain as plain could be that that cursed toddy stuff had made Deny forget himself.
“‘Deny, Deny!’ I said reprovingly.
“Alas, my pal responded only by looking up at me in an insane way and gurgling out, ’Awl ’ight, pal!’
“As for Yoraka, he opened his slit mouth, drivelled like an imbecile, poked his pallid tongue out over his sharp-edged, blackened teeth, and yelled:
“‘Do the b—— natives on ye old Thames still wear clothes? He! he! How’s ther Derby racecourse? By the gods of my fathers, I’d giver something for a soda and whisky ter-night!’
“Saying this much, as near as I can recall all that he said, he lurched, put his head forward, and pinched little Sanga’s small fat leg! The kiddie almost screamed in her terror.
“‘It’s all right, Sanga. Don’t mind him. He’s only a drunken Britisher,’ said I swiftly, as the degenerate stooped over his toddy calabash and offered Deny another gobletful. And all the while this was going on his women and girl wives and servants, squatting on a mat in a semicircle round him, were regarding Deny and me with curious stare.
“Then, once again, in hoarse acclamations, he yelled of England.
“‘Do they still read their Bibles—the pot-bellied, wassailed-eyed English? Ye souls of missionaries, I’ve eaten better men than you blooder Englishman!’