“Velly good place, eatee drinkee. All velly nicee nicee.”
“Here, I say, Ching,” cried Smith, “gently; any one would think we were babies. Stow some of that nicee nicee.”
“Yes! Stow all along inside, like ship. Allee good. Come ’long.”
For we had reached a showy-looking open-sided building, standing a little way back in a well-kept garden, with rockeries and tiny fish-ponds, clipped trees and paved walks, while the large open house displayed tables and neat-looking waiters going to and fro, attending upon well-dressed Chinamen, whose occupation was so much in accordance with our desires, that we entered at once, and Ching led the way to a table; one of the waiters coming up smiling as soon as we were seated.
“Now then,” cried Barkins, who was full of memories of hard biscuit and tough salt beef, “what are we going to have to eat?”
“I don’t know,” I said, looking round uneasily. “What have they got?”
“Here, let’s make Ching order the dinner,” cried Smith. “Look here, old chap. We can have a good dinner for a dollar apiece, can’t we?”
“Velly good dinner, dollar piecee,” he replied.
“That’s right,” said Barkins; “we don’t have a chance every day to spend a dollar upon our dinner. Go it, Ching. Tell the waiter fellow, and order for yourself too. But I say, boys, we must have birds’-nest soup.”
“Of course,” we chorussed, though Smith and I agreed afterwards that we rather shrank from trying the delicacy.