Hop Sing. No shabe likoquize.
Concho (furiously). You knew him, eh? Carramba! You KNEW him.
Hop Sing (slowly and sententiously). Me shabe man you callee Diego. Me shabbee Led Gulchee call Sandy. Me shabbee man Poker Flat callee Alexandlee Molton. Allee same, John! Allee same!
Concho (rubbing his hands). Bueno! Good John! good John! And you knew he was called Alexander Morton? And go on—good John—go on!
Hop Sing. Me plentee washee shirtee—Melican man Poker Flat. Me plentee washee shirt Alexandlee Molton. Always litee, litee on shirt allee time. (Pointing to tail of his blouse, and imitating writing with finger.) Alexandlee Molton. Melican man tellee me—shirt say Alexandlee Molton—shabbee?
Concho. Bueno! Excellent John. Good John. His linen marked Alexander Morton. The proofs are gathering! (crosses to C.)—the letter I found in his pack, addressed to Alexander Morton, Poker Flat, which first put me on his track; the story of his wife's infidelity, and her flight with his partner to red Gulch, the quarrel and fight that separated them, his flight to San Jose, his wanderings to the mission of San Carmel, to the rancho of the Holy Fisherman. The record is complete!
Hop Sing. Alexandlee Molton—
Concho (hurriedly returning to HOP SING). Yes! good John; yes, good John—go on. Alexander Morton—
Hop Sing. Alexandlee Molton. Me washee shirt, Alexandlee Molton; he no pay washee. Me washee flowty dozen hep—four bittie dozen—twenty dollar hep. Alexandlee Molton no payee. He say, "Go to hellee!" You pay me (extending his hand).
Concho. Car—! (checking himself). Poco tiempo, John! In good time, John. Forty dollar—yes. Fifty dollar! Tomorrow, John.