“Here, who are you calling little officer, Pigtail?” cried Smith indignantly.
“Mean young offlicer,” cried Ching hastily. “Say, Why you men cut chop young offlicer head off? Mandalin say, Velly solly. He find out who blave was who chop young offlicer head, and give him lichi.”
“You mean toco?” said Barkins.
“No; lichi.”
“What’s lichi?” I said.
“Tie blave up along post, and man come velly sharp sword, cut him all in ’lit pieces while he live.”
“And do they do that?” I asked, in horror.
“Neve’ find out blave who chop off head,” said Ching, with a queer twinkle of the eyes. “No find blave, no can give him lichi.”
“Sounds pleasant, Poet, don’t it?” said Barkins.
“Horrid!” I cried, with a shudder.