“It is a very short time,” said Stan’s father, with a sigh; “but he must not wait for a month, Jeff.”
“Certainly not,” was the reply, followed by an echo of the brother’s sigh.—“You’ll have to be off, Stan, short as the time is.—As for you, Wing, your people say they hate us foreign devils, as they call us.”
“Wing no fool, Mistee Jefflee,” said the Chinaman coolly.
“I know that, Wing. You are more of a rogue than fool, as the old saying goes. But what do you mean?”
“Wing no fool ’nuff call good mastee foleign devil. That what fool say.”
“That’s true, Wing. We have always behaved well to you and paid you honestly.”
“Why Wing stay. Mastee Olivey, Mastee Jefflee good man. Topside mastee. Wing stop long time. You wantee Wing takee plop’ ca’e young Lynn?”
“Yes; help him, and fight for him if it is necessary,” said Stan’s father.
“Light. Wing bling him back some day. Mind nobody bleak him.”
“There, Stan!” cried Uncle Jeff bluffly, as he roared with laughter. “Wing’s going to take as much care of you as if you were a piece of choice china.”