“What’s the matter?” said Barkins, who kept on suspiciously turning over the contents of his saucer.
“He means rat,” whispered Smith in an awful tone.
“What!” cried Barkins, pushing himself back with a comical look of disgust upon his face.
“Yes, lat,” said Ching. “Velly good fat lat.”
Our faces were a study. At least I know that my companions’ were; and we were perfectly silent while our guide kept on making a sound with his mouth as he supped up the rich gravy.
“Here, hold hard a minute,” said Smith. “I mean you, Ching.”
“Yes?” said the Chinaman, with a pleasant smile; and he crossed his chopsticks, and looked at our brother middy inquiringly.
“What was that we were eating a little while ago?”
“Clucumber; velly good.”
“No, no; before that.”