“Quong talk ploper Inglis. Allee same Melican man. No talkee pidgin, no talkee pallot. Quong come along cally big pack. Cookee. Washee clean do.”
“But we don’t want you,” I said.
“No wantee Quong? Hey?”
“No.”
“Ah.”
He nodded as good-humouredly as if we had engaged him to cook and wash for us, and as we stood there leaning over the side of the puffing little steamer, we saw him go from one to another, and amongst them to Gunson. But he was everywhere received with a shake of the head, and at last, apparently in no wise discouraged, he sat down forward on the deck, took his little bundle on his knees, and curled up his tail again.
They were a curious lot of people on board, and I was dividing my time between watching the panorama of hills and mountains that seemed to rise up out of the sea, and trying to make out what the people might be by whom I was surrounded, thinking that one or two must be Englishmen, others Americans, and some people who had settled down in the country to which we were going, when a big, roughly-bearded fellow, who was very loud and noisy in his conversation, suddenly burst into a roar of laughter, and gave his leg a slap, while some of the men about him joined in his mirth.
For some minutes I could not make out what was the object which attracted them, but Esau was quicker, and gave me a nudge with his elbow.
“They’re going to play some games,” he said; and I grasped directly what it meant, for the big fellow went quietly up behind the little Chinaman, and with a clever twitch unfastened the pin, or whatever it was which held up the coil, and the long tail untwisted and rolled down on the deck amidst a roar of laughter—one which increased as the Chinaman turned to see who had played the trick, but only to find the man standing near with his back toward him, apparently talking thoughtfully.
“You pullee?” said the Chinaman good-humouredly.