“Young Lynn wantee Wing?” he asked.
“Yes; tell me,” said Stan, “how far have we to go up the river?”
“Velly long way,” replied the Chinaman, holding up his left hand with the digits spread out, and using his right index-finger for a pointer as he counted, “One, two, flee, fow, fi’. Plap sick if wind no blow.”
“And is it all beautiful?”
“Yes; allee velly beautiful. Wing countly velly fine place.”
“But are we going to sail right on up the river like this?” asked Stan.
“Yes. ’Top many time. Buy cake—buy egg—buy fluit—buy duck—buy chicken—buy lil pig. Plenty good to eat. Got lice, tea, suga’. You likee have gun shoot duck?”
“No,” said Stan; “there’s too much to look at without bothering about a gun.”
“You likee ketchee fishee? Boy get line leady, put bait hook, young Lynn ketchee fish? Velly good eat.”
“Not to-day,” replied Stan. “I want to use my eyes.”