“Now then, say that out aloud for every one to hear.”
“Wing speakee quitee loud?” said the Chinaman, rolling his head slowly like a ball in its socket, as if he were trying to find out where any damage had been done to the mechanism.
“Yes; let’s have it. Look sharp.”
Evidently satisfied that none of his vertebra were damaged, a look of satisfaction smoothed the wrinkles in Wing’s face, which became round again, and in place of the painful parenthetic curves, pleasantly mirthful lines began to appear; his eyes became two diagonal slits with something twinkling between the edges, and he reached up both hands to take hold of his ribbon-tied pigtail, which he gave a whisk to right and left before he let it fall down between his shoulders.
“Misteh Blunt wantee Wing tell evelybody whole tluth?”
“Yes; and be sharp about it,” was the angry reply.
“Misteh Blunt no knockee Wing head on tea-box, makee sore?”
“No, I shall not touch you again, however bad the news is,” said the manager gravely.
“Misteh Blunt plomise like gentleman no killee poo’ Chinaman?”
“No, I tell you! Now then, out with it! But mind this: if what you say is not true, sir, you may make tracks out of this place, and never show your face here again.”