“Don’t like—don’t like,” he said, shaking his head. “All angly. Quong no make good blead?”
“Yes; everything has been capital,” I said. “Don’t you understand?”
“No; can’t undlestan. Quong velly solly. Go now?”
“No, no. Stop.”
He shook his head and went and sat doleful-looking and unhappy in one corner; out of which he had to be almost dragged at last to partake of the evening meal Mr Raydon sent in for us, absolutely refusing to join us, and waiting patiently till we had done.
There was capital bread, plenty of tea with milk and sugar, cold ham, and hot slices of the deer-meat we had brought with us, and when we had finished and set Quong to his supper, Gunson went to the door to smoke his pipe, while Esau came to me smiling.
“Rather lonely sort of place,” he said, “but it will do, eh?”
“Oh yes, if Mr Raydon is willing for us to stay.”
“Eh? Why, of course he will be, won’t he? I say, though, what lovely ham!”
“What’s the matter with Quong?” I said, for the little fellow was muttering and grumbling as he sat on the wooden bench at the well-scrubbed table.