“Yes; takee gleat ca’e young Lynn, young mastee. Bling him back some day.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Jeff; “but mind this, my fine fellow: if you come back some day without him, and say you couldn’t bring him because you’ve got him broken, why, then—”
He stopped short as if to think out what punishment he would award, while the Chinaman’s face expanded in a broad grin.
“Wing not fool, Mastee Jefflee,” he said. “No come back no young Lynn, fo’ mastee killee Wing.” Then, turning very serious: “Young Lynn bloken, Wing bloken allee same. Young Lynn killee, bad man killee Wing too.”
“I see what you mean, my man,” said Stan’s father gravely. “You will fight for my son to the end.”
“No,” said the Chinaman, shaking his head and frowning; “Wing can’tee fightee. Wing tly helpee young Lynn lun away. Pl’aps bad man killee both. Plentee bad man on Mou’ Livah. Wing takee gleat ca’e young Lynn.”
“Yes; that’s all right, Wing. We always trust you.”
The Chinaman nodded, smiled, and then approached Stan, taking his hand, bending down, and holding the back against his forehead.
“There, Stan,” said his father; “you will find Wing a faithful servant, and you can trust him to help you out of difficulties, for his knowledge of his fellow-countrymen will enable him to give you warning of things which would be hidden from you.—Do you fully understand, Wing, what I am saying to my son?”
The Chinaman bowed, and was soon afterwards dismissed.