"There's another enemy for us to deal with, Matt," said he.
"If he was bigger," returned Matt, "he might prove dangerous; but Pete's too small to count."
"Blackee boy no good," put in the smirking Ping. "My knockee blame head off!"
"Don't be so savage, Ping," said Matt humorously.
"So this is the chap that sent the Sprite to Madison by express, eh?" inquired Lorry, grinning as he gave the Celestial an up-and-down look.
"He's the fellow. Why did you drop out so suddenly in San Francisco, Ping?" and Matt turned to the Chinese.
"My waitee fo' you by Tiburon landing, you savvy?" said Ping. "Bumby, my see launly boss come down landing likee house afire. Woosh! No likee launly boss. My say 'goo'-by' and lun away. One, two, tlee day, my makee hunt fo' Motol Matt. Him gone. P'licee man say he gone Ma'son, Wiscon', so my gettee 'Melican man boxee boat, shippee Ma'son. You ketchee awri'. Velly fine. Now my workee fo' you. Hi-lee-lee, hi-lo-lo——"
Ping was happy. He had found Matt, and he was back on the job again. Not only that, but the "blackee boy" was cut out for good.
"Do you remember the three men who made us so much trouble in San Francisco, Ping?" asked Matt.
"Allee same. Red-whiskels 'Melican——"