Matt looked around. The Dutch boy had managed to scramble to his feet and paw his head free of the clothes. A red undershirt was draped gracefully over his right shoulder, and he was completely swathed in other garments and clothes-pins.
Matt grinned. The sight was too much for him.
"Meppy id's funny," said the Dutch boy, with a wink, "aber der Chink ain't enchoying himseluf so as any vone can nodice."
"Who are you?" asked Matt.
"Carl is der lapel vat I tote, Carl Pretzel."
"Do you owe the Chinaman money?"
"Vell, I vas pusted, und I vanted him to vait undil I get some chobs, und he got mad und pegun drowing t'ings. He vould haf drowed der kitchen stof ad me, only it vas hotter as he could hantle. My, my, vat a grazy Chink id iss."
"How much does he owe you, Hop?" inquired Matt.
"Fittyfi' cent fo' launly," answered the Chinaman, "two dol' fo' spoilee clothes," and he waved a discouraged hand at the garments on the ground and at the overturned wash-tub. "Two fittyfi', you savvy? Him one piecee bad Dutchee boy."
"How much is my laundry?" asked Matt.