“To stay! Trap! Whaddye mean, you yellow sneak? Lemme out this minute, or I’ll show you who’s who wit’ the wallop! I’ll fuss up that map o’ yourn till your own grandmother wouldn’t know it!”
“Aexcuse me, Mr. Flibsy, you don’ say nawthin’ ’bout my ancestors! They sacred to Jap’nese. You be p’lite or I thing I quarrel with you.”
“Oh, you thing you will, do you? Now, stop this nonsense, and—”
“Aexcuse me. This not non-senze. Behole! You here,—here you stay. I bed you stay!” and the Japanese with low, mocking bow, went out at the door and began to draw it to after him.
“Here, you, come back here!” and Fibsy’s quick perceptions took in the fact that he had been trapped by some one, and that he was about to be locked in. “Come back, what’s-your-name?”
“My name Kito, an’ I ask you be rev’ren ’bout my august ancestors.”
“Bother your ancestors! I mean—bless ’em!” for Kito’s eyes narrowed at the first word. “Now, you come back a minute, and put me wise to this song and dance. What house is this?”
“My master’s.”
“And you’re his valet? cook? head stuff? what?”
“His ver’ humble servant,” and Kito bowed low. “An’ at his orders, I mus’ log you in. Goo’ by.”