The other two laughed at him.
"He always was a bit of a muff," jeered his old uncle, "and never knew what was good. He's not good enough for you, Lilly; you ought to have a fellow like me--not a prig. He's like a mute at a funeral."
But she saw no joke in this.
"You shan't abuse my darling Konni, you old wretch! Go on telling your old chestnuts. Allons! Fire away!"
No, not a word should be breathed against her dear, sweet Konni!
So uncle started telling good stories again. This time he related them in pigeon-English, that gibberish which the Chinese and other interesting inhabitants of the far East use as a medium of communication with the white sahibs. "Tom and Paddy in the Tea-house"; "The virtuous spinster Miss Laura"; "The Guide and the Bayadere." Each was received with a box of the ears.
"But we mustn't let Konni hear any more, uncle dear. Konni might be corrupted."
So saying, she inclined her left ear very close to dear uncle's lips, and made with her hollowed hand between them a "whispering-tube," which was the custom of "the crew" when any of them wanted to flirt unheard, or do anything else particularly outrageous.
It would be a sad mistake to suppose that she was in the least abashed or unequal to giving as good as she got. The general's "lullabies" were spicy enough, and she had learned from "the crew" much that was of unquestionable origin and questionable taste. For such an appreciative audience as uncle proved to be, it was worth while doing one's best. But the innocent Konrad had to submit to his ears being stuffed up with the wadding on which the Colville apples had been served.
After the coffee, uncle challenged her to keep her promise about brewing the South Sea Bowl, her vaunted knowledge of which, of course, had been mere brag.