“Ya,––I savvy!” said Ah Sing. “Me cookem supper every night––to-morrow––but no do’em this time to-day. My blother’s wifee, she die and get buried one year to-day. Savvy! Me want to go and put’m chicken, piecee pork, punk stick, all on grave––see!”
Phil laughed as he sat down to the table. Ah Sing looked hurt.
“What you do that for?” asked Phil.
“You no savvy?” queried the Chinaman, leaning over with arched eyebrows. “Put’m on grave so devil come and eat’m up. Devil say, ‘Ah Sing good boy;––Ah Sing blother Lee, he good boy too.’ Devil, heap pleased. No hurt Ah Sing and Lee Sing.”
Jim ventured a cautious look up from his oatmeal and milk, as if awaiting the outcome of the discussion.
“Gee!––but they’re a crazy bunch,” said Phil, addressing no one in particular. Ah Sing was of the knowing school of chink and did not choose to let the remark slide by.
“You say ‘heap crazy.’ No crazy! White man just allee same crazy. He put’m flower on white girlie grave. You no think that crazy. Chinaman put’m chicken and pork on Chinee girlie grave,––Chinaman no crazy.
“White man look up––see angel; white man put’m flower, please angels. Angels no hurt anybody.
“Chinaman look down––see devil. Devil he can hurt everybody. Chinaman put’m chicken for devil. Devil heap pleased:––no hurt Chinaman.