“But it’s an insult to you,” I said. “Any one would think they were a pack of boys.”
“Yes, jolly sailor boy. You no makee come off?”
“No,” I said. “They’ve made a big hole through the bottom of the canister, pushed the end of the tail—”
“Tow-chang.”
“Well, tow-chang, if you like to call it so—through into the inside, and then hammered the tin back round it and made it as fast as fast. Here, I shall have to cut it, Ching.”
“No, no,” he cried, seizing the canister. “No cuttee piece of tow-chang.”
“Then how are we to get it off?”
“Don’t know, Mr Hellick; look velly bad?”
“Horrible—absurd; every one will laugh at you.”
“Yes, velly bad. Ching put it in pocket.”