“Why,” cried Merry, “it’s Woo Sing!”
Woo Sing was the Chinese roustabout at the Ophir House, the hotel at which Merry and his chums had put up during the whole of their stay in Ophir, Arizona. Ordinarily, Woo Sing was very bland and peaceable, but now it was evident that his Oriental temper was getting the best of him.
“Whoosh!” he shouted, on catching sight of the boys. “One piecee pig makee heap tlouble. Woo Sing no likee pig, by Klismus! Somebody give Woo Sing club, by gee clickets, him makee pig bologna sausage chop-chop.”
The pig, for the moment, had stopped struggling and stopped squealing. With his round, wicked little eyes he was surveying the four lads in the trail.
“Where’d you get the porker, Sing?” inquired Ballard.
“Pophagan he wantee. Him sendee Woo Sing to gettee. I pay fi’ dol’ fo’ pig, and he makee fitty dol’ damage with tlouble. Pophagan no sendee Sing fo’ pig ally mo’. Him tly sendee, Sing quit job, by glacious!”
All the boys studied the angry Chinaman for a moment, and then the humor of the situation broke over them, and they began to laugh.
“You makee laugh, huh?” chattered the Chinaman wrathfully. “You ketchee heap plenty fun flom China boy’s tlouble! By jim’ Klismus, I been so mad I likee make fight. Mebbyso, you takee pig with stling bymby flom one place to some othel place. Pig makee tlouble fo’ you, then China boy laugh allee same Sam Hill. Now China boy no can laugh. Whoosh! Giddap,” he added, shaking the rope in an attempt to make the pig resume the journey townward.
The pig, however, seemed to have ideas of his own on the subject of starting. Planted firmly in the trail, he merely let out a protesting squeal every time Woo Sing jerked the rope.
“He makee squeal, no makee move!” cried the exasperated Chinaman.