"No hab got, Mlissie Tholnton. No hab got!"
"Hello, Sing-Song!" yelled Billy, as he saw the Chinese cook. "Got plenty of grub?"
"Me no Sing-Song—me Song Lee, Mlister Billy!" objected the Oriental. "Me Sing Lee!"
"Well, Sing-Sing or Sing-Song or Lee Song, never mind about that," laughed the Western lad. "Rustle up the grub and we'll call you anything you like."
"Billy, Billy!" expostulated his aunt, "wait a moment. Sing Lee wants to tell me something. What is it, Sing?" she asked.
"No hab got, Mlissie Tholnton," went on the Chinaman, making all his "r" sounds like an "l." Then, working his fingers into a complication of knots and twists, he continued: "No hab got pig glease for make twisty cakes."
"Pig grease," murmured Billy wonderingly. "That's a new one on me. And twisty cakes? What in the world does he mean, Aunt Kittie?"
"I expect he wants to tell me that he hasn't any lard to fry the crullers in, Billy," she answered, with a laugh.
"That's light," assented the cook. "No hab got—what can do?"