Blue Jackets | Page 7

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, and he smiled a
peculiarly saddened, pensive smile; for our messmate was leaning
towards Ching.
"Don't eat any more of that," he said faintly.
"Eat um all up; velly good."
"Can one get a drop of brandy here?"
"Dlop blandy? No. Velly nicee 'lack."

"What's 'lack?"
"No, no 'lack! lice spilit."
"'Rack!" I said--"arrack?"
"Yes, allack," said Ching, nodding.
"Let's have some--a glass each," said Barkins; "and look sharp."
Ching summoned one of the smiling waiters, and the order was given.
Then for the first time he noticed that we had not finished the contents
of our little saucers.
"No eat lat?" he cried.
I shook my head.
"Velly good!"
"We're not quite well," said Smith.
"Been out in the sun too much," added Barkins.
"Ah, sun too much bad! Lit' dlop spilit make quite well. No eat lat?"
"No, no!" we cried in chorus.
"Velly good," said our guide; and in alarm lest such a delicacy should
be wasted, he drew first one and then the other saucer over to his side,
and finished their contents.
Long before this, though, the attendant had brought us three tiny
glasses of white spirit, which we tossed off eagerly, with the result that
the qualmish sensations passed away; but no recommendations on the
part of our guide could induce us to touch anything that followed,
saving sundry preparations of rice and fruit, which were excellent.
The dinner over, Ching took us about the garden to inspect the lilies in

pots, the gold and silver fish, fat and wonderfully shaped, which glided
about in the tanks and ponds, and then led us into a kind of arbour,
where, beneath a kind of wooden eave, an instrument was hanging from
a peg. It was not a banjo, for it was too long; and it was not a guitar, for
it was too thin, and had not enough strings; but it was something of the
kind, and evidently kept there for the use of musically-disposed
visitors.
"You likee music?" said Ching.
"Oh yes," I replied dubiously, as I sat using the telescope, gazing right
away over the lower part of the town at the winding river, with its
crowds of craft.
"Why, he isn't going to play, is he?" whispered Smith. "We don't want
to hear that. Let's go out in the town."
"Don't be in such a hurry," replied Barkins. "The sun's too hot. I say,
our dinner wasn't such a very great success, was it?"
Smith shook his head, and just then Ching began to tune the instrument,
screwing the pegs up and down, and producing the most lugubrious
sounds, which somehow made me begin to think of home, and how
strange it was to be sitting there in a place which seemed like part of a
picture, listening to the Chinese guide.
I had forgotten the unpleasantry of the dinner in the beauty of the scene,
for there were abundance of flowers, the sky was of a vivid blue, and
the sun shone down brilliantly, and made the distant water of the river
sparkle.
Close by there were the Chinese people coming and going in their
strange costume; a busy hum came through the open windows; and I
believe that in a few minutes I should have been asleep, if Ching had
not awakened me by his vigorous onslaught upon the instrument, one
of whose pegs refused to stay in exactly the right place as he kept on
tuning.

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