"All right, old top. You win," was the way Hippy confessed his defeat.
It was a happy, laughing group that rode around the rock and into the camp where odors of cooking food, and the smiling face of Ping Wing, met them. Horses were quickly unsaddled and tethered, then the guide introduced his charges. Ping shook hands with himself at each introduction, and smiled and bowed with a profound grace that would have done credit at a king's reception.
"You belongee plenty smart inside," was his greeting to Grace Harlowe, which she interpreted correctly, Ping having meant to convey that, in his opinion, she was an intelligent woman.
"Thank you. Is mess ready?"
"Les. You belongee one time Flance!" he questioned, touching the sleeve of her Red Cross uniform.
"Yes, we all were in France. I drove an ambulance there; Mr. Wingate was an aviator, and the other young ladies worked in hospitals and canteens. How do you know about France?"
"Me cook-man in Melican army. No likee war. Belongee too muchee number one blam, blam!"
"You mean the shooting? You mean you did not like to have the big
German shells come over?" smiled the Overland girl.
"No likee."
Hippy's appetite was getting the better him and at this juncture he voiced his desire for food.