“Joe Smith grunted. ‘Well, why don’t you?’ he asked.
“‘’Cos I ain’t a nigger,’ ses Bill.
“‘Well, but you might be,’ ses Joe, very softly. ‘Black your face an’ ’ands an’ legs, and dress up in them cotton things, and go ashore and get in ’is way.’
“‘If you will, I will, Bill,’ ses a chap called Bob Pullin.
“Well, they talked it over and over, and at last Joe, who seemed to take a great interest in it, went ashore and got the duds for ’em. They was a tight fit for Bill, Hindoos not being as wide as they might be, but Joe said if ’e didn’t bend about he’d be all right, and Pullin, who was a smaller man, said his was fust class.
“After they were dressed, the next question was wot to use to colour them with; coal was too scratchy, an’ ink Bill didn’t like. Then Ted Hill burnt a cork and started on Bill’s nose with it afore it was cool, an’ Bill didn’t like that.
“‘Look ’ere,’ ses the carpenter, ‘nothin’ seems to please you, Bill—it’s my opinion you’re backing out of it.’
“‘You’re a liar,’ ses Bill.
“‘Well, I’ve got some stuff in a can as might be boiled-down Hindoo for all you could tell to the difference,’ ses the carpenter; ‘and if you’ll keep that ugly mouth of yours shut, I’ll paint you myself.’
“Well, Bill was a bit flattered, the carpenter being a very superior sort of a man, and quite an artist in ’is way, an’ Bill sat down an’ let ’im do ’im with some stuff out of a can that made ’im look like a Hindoo what ’ad been polished. Then Bob Pullin was done too, an’ when they’d got their turbins on, the change in their appearance was wonderful.