“You have done that?”
“Yes,” said Wing, rather pompously now, as if exceedingly proud of his knowledge. “Wing know allee ’bout it. Mend bloken leg oncee. Big tub fallee flom clane when wind um up. Fall on coolie leg. Poo’ Chinaman. Wing mend leg. Misteh Blunt got hole floo heah,”—the thumbs illustrating again—“Wing get softee cotton, pushee piecee in flont hole, ’top wind come out; pokee piecee in back, keepee blood in. Allee blood lun out, Masteh Blunt die velly fast.”
“But have you bandaged the place well?”
“Bandage? Yes; tie velly long piece tablee-cloff lound and lound and oveh shouldeh. ’Top wind, ’top blood. Get well now.”
“Go and stop with him, Wing,” cried Stan excitedly. “I can’t come.”
“Wing know. Got tellee men how to fight.”
“Yes. Stop with Mr Blunt. You’re a splendid fellow, Wing,” cried Stan excitedly.
“Young Lynn glad Wing ’top place?”
“Yes, I tell you. Capital! Off with you back.”
“Yes, Wing go back. T’ink young Lynn like know.”