“No, no. Ask offlicer. Doctor only give flizzick. Velly nastee. Ugh!”
Ching’s round face was a study as he screwed it up to show his disgust with the doctor’s preparations.
Barkins went off and returned directly.
“Well,” we cried; “seen Price?” and Ching, who was squatted on the floor, looked up smiling.
“No.”
“Not seen him?”
“No; I ran against Dishy, and thought I’d ask him plump.”
“And you did?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”