Blue Jackets | Page 6

good dinner, dollar piecee," he replied.
"That's right," said Barkins; "we don't have a chance every day to spend a dollar upon our dinner. Go it, Ching. Tell the waiter fellow, and order for yourself too. But I say, boys, we must have birds'-nest soup."
"Of course," we chorussed, though Smith and I agreed afterwards that we rather shrank from trying the delicacy.
Ching lost no time in giving the orders, and in a very few minutes the man bustled up with saucers and basins, and we began tasting this and tasting that as well as we could with the implements furnished to us for the purpose, to wit chopsticks, each watching the apparently wonderful skill with which Ching transferred his food from the tiny saucers placed before him, and imitating his actions with more or less success-- generally less.
We had some sweet stuff, and some bits of cucumber cut up small, and some thick sticky soap-like stuff, which rather put me in mind of melted blancmange with salt and pepper instead of sugar, and when this was ended came saucers of mincemeat.
"'Tain't bad," whispered Barkins, as we ate delicately. "Peg away, lads. We're pretty safe so long as we eat what Pigtail does."
I did not feel so sure; but I was hungry, and as the food did not seem to be, as Barkins said, bad, I kept on, though I could not help wondering what we were eating.
"I say, Ching," said Smith suddenly, "when's the birds'-nest soup coming? Oughtn't we to have had that first?"
"Eat um all up lit' bit go," replied Ching.
"What, that sticky stuff?" I cried.
"Yes. No have velly bess flesh birds'-ness for dolla'; but all velly good. Nicee nicee, velly nicee."
"Don't!" cried Smith excitedly.
"Let him be, Blacksmith," said Barkins; "it's only his way. Ah, here's something else!"
I looked at the little saucers placed before us, in which, neatly divided, were little appetising-looking brown heaps, covered with rich gravy, and smelling uncommonly nice.
"What's this?" said Barkins, turning his over with the chopsticks.
"Velly good," said Ching, smiling, and making a beginning.
"Yes; don't smell bad," said Smith. "I know: it's quails. There's lots of quail in China. 'Licious!"
I had a little bit of the white meat and brown gravy, which I had separated from a tiny bone with the chopsticks, and was congratulating myself on my cleverness, when it dropped back into my saucer, for Ching, with his mouth full, said quietly--
"No, not lit' bird--lat."
"What's lat?" said Barkins suspiciously.
"No lat," said Ching smiling; "lat."
"Well, I said lat. What is lat?"
Smith put down his chopsticks. I had already laid down mine.
"What's the matter?" said Barkins, who kept on suspiciously turning over the contents of his saucer.
"He means rat," whispered Smith in an awful tone.
"What!" cried Barkins, pushing himself back with a comical look of disgust upon his face.
"Yes, lat," said Ching. "Velly good fat lat."
Our faces were a study. At least I know that my companions' were; and we were perfectly silent while our guide kept on making a sound with his mouth as he supped up the rich gravy.
"Here, hold hard a minute," said Smith. "I mean you, Ching."
"Yes?" said the Chinaman, with a pleasant smile; and he crossed his chopsticks, and looked at our brother middy inquiringly.
"What was that we were eating a little while ago?"
"Clucumber; velly good."
"No, no; before that."
"Birds'-ness soup; velly cost much. Not all birds'-ness. Some shark-fis' fin."
"I don't mean that, I tell you," cried Smith in an exasperated tone of voice. "I mean that other brown meat cut up small into the brown sauce. It was rabbit, wasn't it?"
"Oh no," said Ching decisively; "no labbit. Lit' mince-up pup-dog. Nicee nicee."
Smith turned green, and his eyes rolled so that he actually squinted; while Barkins uttered a low sound-like gasp. As for me, I felt as I remember feeling after partaking meekly of what one of my aunts used to call prune tea--a decoction made by boiling so many French plums along with half an ounce of senna leaves.
"Oh gracious!" murmured Barkins; while Smith uttered a low groan.
"You both likee more?" said Ching blandly.
"No!" they cried so unanimously that it was like one voice; and in spite of my own disgust and unpleasant sensations I felt as if I must laugh at them.
"Oh, mawkish morsels!" muttered Barkins.
"You feel you have 'nuff?" said Ching, smiling. "Oh no. Loas' suck-pig come soon. You eat velly much more."
"Not if I know it," whispered Smith to me. "I don't believe it'll be pig."
"What then?" I whispered back.
"Kid."
"Well, kid's nice."
"Get out! I meant baby."
"Ugh! Don't."
"It's too late to say don't," groaned Smith. "We've done it."
"Hold up, old chap," I whispered. "Everybody's looking at you."
"Let 'em," he groaned. "Oh, I do feel so ill!"
"Nonsense! Look at Tanner."
He turned his wild eyes upon Barkins, whose aspect was ludicrous enough to make him forget his own sensations,