“Me likee lilly gal, she likee me,” he explained with his bland vacuous smile and his little beady eyes twinkling. “Me wifoo get chop chop. Two men not stop one placee—no go ship and ’top shore too.”
“You rascal!” shouted “Old Jock” in a rage, “you served me just the same trick the voyage before last. You’d better come with us now, for I’m hanged if I give you the chance again.”
“No, cap’en,” grinned the imperturbable Chinaman, “no can do.”
So, amidst the chaff of the men, who asserted that Ching Wang must have about fifty wives by this time at various ports, considering the number of times he had contracted matrimonial engagements, he went over the side into a sampan he had waiting for him, smiling blandly to the last, and giving me as a parting present the little brass figure of Buddha which he worshipped as his deity. This was a sure token of the strong affection he entertained for me, his “lilly pijjin,” as he always called me from the time that Tim Rooney had commended me to his good graces.
“He’ll come back with us next trip,” said Mr Mackay, as he with all of us gave Ching Wang a parting “chin chin” on the celestial cook being presently rowed ashore in great state, sitting in the stern-sheets of his sampan and beaming on us with his bland smile as long as his round face could be distinguished, dwindling away in the distance till it finally disappeared. “I’m sorry to lose him, though, sir, for he was a capital cook, besides being a plucky fellow. Recollect how he helped to save all our lives the other day, as well as the ship and cargo.”
“Humph!” grunted “Old Jock,” who appeared to have forgotten this. “He’s served us a shabby trick now, by going off like that at the last moment, and I’ve half a mind not to have any truck with him again.”
“Ha, ha, cap’en,” laughed Mr Mackay, “you said so last time, don’t you remember? Yet, you brought him aboard again with the other hands before we started from Gravesend this trip. You’re too good-natured to bear in mind all the hard things you say sometimes.”
“Perhaps I am, Mackay, perhaps I am,” sniggered and snorted “Old Jock,” thinking this a high compliment. “Though, when I say a thing, I mean a thing, you know.”
Ching Wang, when he got ashore, did not forget his old friends and leave us altogether in the lurch; for he sent off a black cook, a native of Jamaica, one Tippoo by name, to take his place; and as a messenger from the brokers on shore came off at the same time with the ship’s papers, nothing now delayed our departure from Shanghai.
Then was heard Tim Rooney’s piercing whistle once more on board, and the welcome—thrice welcome cry: