Hop Loo, a Chinese laundryman, lived in the house, and Matt was just coming after his week's wash.
Under a cotton-wood tree in the yard, some fifteen feet from the house, was a wash-tub mounted on a couple of chairs. Between the tree and a corner of the house, and running thence to a post set at right angles with the adobe wall, was a line strung with clothes.
Charley Sing, who worked for Hop Loo, was at the tub, up to his elbows in hot suds.
The racket in the house had claimed Charley's attention just as it had caught Matt's. Pulling his hands out of the wash-water, Charley dried them on his kimono, jerked the wash-board out of the tub, and, holding it by one leg for use as a weapon, stole toward the open door of the adobe.
Matt had been so situated that he could look into the house and catch a restricted view of what was going on. The thumping had been caused by flat-irons striking against the inner walls, each one being nimbly dodged by a fat youth of decidedly odd appearance. Hop Loo, who was ironing, had shrilly piped his denunciation of the fat boy; the latter had replied; and Hop Loo, failing to make a bull's-eye with the flat-iron, had sprung at the boy. The latter, with an astonishingly quick move, considering his size, had grabbed a rack of ironed clothes and hurled it in Hop Loo's way. Thereupon Hop Loo had turned a somersault over the clothes, and was now standing on his head very quietly in a wood-box.
"Meppy you t'ink I vas a Vandefeller, or Rockybilt," cried the fat boy, breaking the silence, "but you bet my life you got anodder guess coming. You make me some drouples, by shinks, und I don'd like dot. Goot-py, Hob Loo! Sorry dot I can't vait undil you ged right-site-oop, aber I haf pitzness in some odder blaces, und vill broceed to fly my kite!"
The fat boy turned and wabbled through the door. Matt, now that he had a good look at him, began to laugh.
"Dutchman" was written all over the boy's face. He had a mop of carroty hair, and on top of it was a little plaid cap that looked as though it was lost in the wilderness. His ample dimensions were covered with a suit whose pattern consisted of a very "loud" plaid, and under the open coat could be seen a crimson vest that made even more noise than the rest of his apparel.
As this ponderous vision ambled through the door, it was met by Charley Sing and the wash-board.