"Why you cly, Missus?"
It was in vain for her to say she wasn't crying.
"Oh, yes, you cly, Missus, but what for you cly? Mista Quin he come back to-molla."
He might even be back that night, as Sam knew, though he would not be till late. But Jenny sobbed and the Bible slipped from her knees upon the floor. Sam picked it up and recognised it at once. He snorted as he gave it her back.
"My tinkee no good lead dis," he said solemnly. "My tinkee all the stolies in it lies, Missis. My savvy one, two, tree, piecee Joss-pidgin-man Chinaside, what you callee leplet, my savvy Yingling word, miss'onary, and he talkee no good. My tinkee him got wata topside, clazy, pelton you say."
Out of this difficult hishee-hashee of words Jenny extracted the notion that in Sam's opinion missionaries were fools, for "leplet" and "pelton" put together mean that. She shook her head and sobbed.
"My tinkee no good makee littee Missus cly," said Sam. "T'at book makee nicee litty gal cly allo time. My see um. No good littee gal cly: my say it damn foolo book. Mista Quin him velly good man: plenty chow-chow, dlesses and Sam for washee evelyting. Missus, you no lead Bible. Him no good. Damn foolo stoly, my savvy."
But what good was it for a Chinaman to tell her that?
"Him velly good book, I tink, Sam," she said earnestly.
"My no tinkee," returned Sam.