“Now, go fitch noder kittle—queek.”
“Yis, sar—zo—goot,” replied Jumbo, mimicking the interpreter, and going off with a vociferous laugh at his little joke, in which he was joined by his sable clansmen, Masiko and Zombo.
“Hims got ’nuff of impoodidence,” said the interpreter, as he bustled about his avocations.
“He’s not the only one that’s got more than enough impoodidence,” said Disco, pushing a fine straw down the stem of his “cutty,” to make it draw better. “I say, Tony,” (our regardless seaman had already thus mutilated his name), “you seem to have plenty live stock in them parts.”
“Plenty vat?” inquired the interpreter, with a perplexed expression.
“Why, plenty birds and beasts,—live stock we calls it, meanin’ thereby livin’ creeturs.” He pointed towards an opening in the mangroves, through which were visible the neighbouring mud and sand flats, swarming with wild-fowl, and conspicuous among which were large flocks of pelicans, who seemed to be gorging themselves comfortably from an apparently inexhaustible supply of fish in the pools left by the receding tide.
“Ho, yis, me perceive; yis, plenty bird and beast—fishes too, and crawbs—look dare.”
He pointed to a part of the sands nearest to their encampment which appeared to be alive with some small creatures.
“That’s coorious,” said Disco, removing his pipe, and regarding the phenomenon with some interest.
“No, ’taint koorous, it’s crawbs,” replied Antonio.