"It would be pie if it was made of
old shoes, if it had a crust on. What I want to know is, where did you
catch him, and who pays you to bring it to us, and who pays him to pay
you to feed it to us? Where does he live, and is he black, white, or
red? Come on, old top. You know a lot if you could only think of it."
The Chinaman, an evil-looking old fellow with a long cicatrice across
his left cheekbone, shook his head and regarded his questioner craftily.
"No spik English!" he said.
"You spoke it then," Jack retorted. "I'll bet a pan of pickles that you
know what we were saying when you came in here."
"Let him alone," Frank advised. "That head of his is solid bone. He
would think his foot hurt if he had the toothache."
"What a filthy, yellow, toothless, wicked old devil it is!" Jack went
on. "Some day when he comes here with that basket of rats I'm going to
cut his pigtail off close behind his ears."
"I think he's the foulest old geezer I've ever met," Frank went on. "If
I had a dog with a mug like that I'd hire him out to the man who
manufactures nightmares."
The Chinaman stood looking stupidly about for a minute before placing
his basket on the floor, then dropped it with a jar which rattled the
few dishes within and scuffled out of the door. Jimmie followed to see
that he did not loiter around the house listening, and came back with a
mischievous grin on his face.
Long before the appearance of the Chinaman the boys had planned to use
such uncomplimentary language in his presence as would be likely to
excite his anger, if he understood what was being said.
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