"Pass it up," snapped the motorman. "Chinks is only half baked, best you can say for 'em. Let's snake 'im aboard and go on. We've lost enough time."
One got on either side of Ping and lifted him to his feet. They would have dragged him to the car had he not resisted.
"Leavee 'lone!" he shouted, squirming.
"Oh, snakes!" ground out the exasperated motorman. "Ain't you fer the Rapids?"
"No wanchee go Glan' Lapids!" declared Ping. "Why my makee jump my wanchee go Glan' Lapids?"
"That's so," said the conductor. "What did he jump from the car for if he wanted to go on with us? We'll leave him, Jim. I thought, when I saw him hit the ground, we'd have to take him to the hospital, but he seems to be all right."
Jim, with an angry exclamation, let go of Ping and hustled back to his place at the front end of the car. The conductor mounted the rear platform, and the starting bell jingled.
As the passengers looked back, they saw the Chinese boy attempt a war dance in his stocking feet, then suddenly cease and reach down to clasp his right shin.
"He's got out o' some lunatic asylum," thought the conductor. "Well, it's none o' my funeral," he added, and went into the car and began collecting fares.
Ping, when the car was out of sight, limped around collecting his scattered wardrobe. While he was about it, he was wondering, in his feeble way, why Motor Matt was chasing Bill Wily.