“Mr Blunt would not like that.”
“No. Velly angly. Kick up big low and say Wing gleat fool.”
“And what would you say?” asked Stan. “Say velly solly. Gleat pity lose nice topside boat b’long Blunt.”
“Of course.”
“But much gleat pity let pilate man choppee off Wing head and all men head. Can makee nicee boat again; can’tee makee velly good boatman.”
Stan agreed that this was a perfectly sound argument, and during the rest of the little voyage up the river he always felt greatly relieved when his guide was able to announce that the boats they passed were men of peace and not men-o’-war.
But as day succeeded day in lovely weather, and the journey continued through a glorious country, the bugbear pirates died out of the lad’s thoughts; and on the last evening, when Wing announced that they would land at a big city in the morning, and leave the boat to go back to the hong, Stan was ready to believe that his guide had been playing alarmist a great deal more than was necessary, and told him so. But Wing shook his head. “No,” he said; “pilate velly bad sometime.”
“But we shall find the land journey no worse—there will be no discharged soldiers wandering about ready to interfere with us?”
“Wing hope allee gone, but can’tee tell. Plenty fliend people heah. Tell Wing when soljee come. Young Lynn and Wing lun away.”