“No killum kill all a body,” said Jimmy nodding; and he went through a sort of pantomime, showing the consequences of being bitten by a viper, beginning with drowsiness, continuing through violent sickness, which it seemed was followed by a fall upon the earth, a few kicks and struggles, and lastly by death, for the black ended his performance by stretching himself out stiffly and closing his eyes, saying:
“Jimmy dead; black fellow dig big hole and put um in de ground. Poor old Jimmy!”
Then he jumped up and laughed, saying: “Killum all um snake! No good! No!”
“I say, Joe Carstairs,” said Jack Penny, who had watched the performance with a good deal of interest; “don’t that chap ever get tired?”
“Oh yes; and goes to sleep every time he gets a chance,” I said.
“Yes! but don’t his back ache? Mine does, horrid, every day, without banging about like that;” and as if he felt his trouble then Jack Penny turned his rueful-looking boy’s face to me and began softly rubbing his long man’s back just across the loins.
It was very funny, too, when Jack was speaking earnestly. In an ordinary conversation he would go on drawl, drawl, drawl in a bass voice; but whenever he grew excited he began to squeak and talk in a high-pitched treble like a boy, till he noticed it himself, and then he would begin to growl again in almost an angry tone; and this was the case now.
“Here, you’re laughing!” he said savagely. “I can’t help being tall and thin, and having a gruff voice like a man, when I’m only a boy. I don’t try to be big and tall! I grew so. And I don’t try to talk gruff.”
“Oh yes! you do, Jack,” I said.
“Well, p’r’aps I do; but I don’t try to talk thin, like I do sometimes.”