“Yes,” said Wing calmly enough. “Make tlack an’ lun away velly fass.”
“For look here, sir; if you create a bad scare to frighten every one here you deserve to be hung.”
“Flighten me too. Flighten velly much. But Misteh Blunt no hang poo’ Chinaman?”
“As sure as I’m here, I will, sir—by your pigtail—”
Wing’s hand went up to the black appendage, and he took hold and gave it a gentle pull as he glanced at Stan, to say softly:
“Make poo’ Chinaman cly. Oh deah! oh deah! Misteh Blunt hang Wing up so?”
“Yes, to the crane, and give you a few dips in the river to wash the lies out of you.”
“Wing no got tell lie. Allee velly tlue. Gleat tlouble come. Soljee gleat many up livah-side; pilate man gleat many up livah. Big junk. Allee buln missionaly house, killee foleign devil, killee evelybody. Buln village, pull up tea-bush, stealee tea-box, buln go-down. Gleat many fightee; cuttee float, dlown. Oh, velly, velly dleadful up livah! Wing lun away, come tell Misteh Blunt, evelybody. Come down livah velly soon.”
“Nice bit of news this, Mr Lynn,” said Blunt, turning his frowning face to Stan, who noted that there was a fierce, lowering glow in the half-shut eyes.
“Yes,” replied the lad; “but perhaps very much exaggerated.—Here, Wing, is all this quite true?”