“That you would, sir, I’ll lay,” said the old sailor; “and wouldn’t you lay into ’em with that very sharp-edged cutlash I touches up for you!”
“Now look here, Dick, you’re chaffing,” said the lad; “now just drop it.”
“All right, sir,” said the man, with a laugh twinkling at the corner of his lips.
“It is a very fine country though, isn’t it, Dick?”
“Wonderful, sir. There’s gold, and tin, and copper, and precious stones.”
“Did you ever find any, Dick?”
“Well no, sir; but I’ve known them as has found gold in the rivers. The Chinees gets most on it.”
“There now you’re chaffing again, Dick,” cried the lad. “Chinese indeed! Why we’re not going to China.”
“’Course we aint, sir, but the Chinees swarm in the place we’re going to. I ant chaffing now; this here’s all true—as true as that the chaps all wears a dagger sort of a thing with a crooked handle, and calls it a crease.”
“Yes, I know they all wear the kris,” said the lad.