The heathens were bowing low, now and then pressing their foreheads to the cold flagging of the walk, while they chanted in a strange, chattering monotone.
“I’m in it!” laughed Frank. “I think I must be a Joss.”
“Oh, gleat Melican mlan,” sobbed the one who could speak English, “glivee up to us an’ we pay heepee mluch.”
“Hello!” whistled Frank. “Now the thing has a money-value! What do you think of that, Dick?”
“It’s marvelous!” asserted the Andover man. “I don’t know what to think of it.”
It was a very queer adventure, and Merry found something fascinating about it, for it was mystifying.
The Chinaman who could make himself understood continued to implore Frank to give up the stick, increasing his offers of money with bewildering swiftness.
“Glivee tlo hundal dollal—thlee—floa—fivee!” he declared. “Pay quickee! Glivee up.”
“Well, it seems that I’ve found a prize,” said Frank. “Five hundred dollars for a little black stick? You are crazy, John! Get up and stop that business of wiping your face on the sidewalk.”
“Will glivee?”