“Yes, and it’s a rascally shame.”
“Yes, allee lascally shame,” he said, nodding his head. “Not hurt velly. Only flighten velly much, makee lun fass.”
“Stand still, and I’ll soon have it off,” I cried, whipping out my knife.
“No, no,” he cried, dragging the long plait from my hand; “mightee cut tow-chang, and that velly dleadful. Take long time glow.”
“Very well, then. I’ll unfasten it, and show it to Mr Reardon.”
“What for? make Mis’ Leardon velly angly, scold jolly sailor boy. Then they not like Ching ’tall.”
“But it’s too bad; treating you just as if you were a dog.”
“Jolly sailor boy tie tin-pot dog tow-chang? No. Mr Hellick make laugh. Dog not got tow-chang.”
“No,” I said, trying very hard to get the pot off, “but dogs have got tails.”
“Yes, got tails. Don’t tellee, make no good. Didn’t hurt Ching.”