Blue Jackets Part 3

"Here, who are you calling little officer, Pigtail?" cried Smith indignantly.

"Mean young offlicer," cried Ching hastily. "Say, Why you men cut chop young offlicer head off? Mandalin say, Velly solly. He find out who blave was who chop young offlicer head, and give him lichi."

"You mean toco?" said Barkins.

"No; lichi."

"What's lichi?" I said.

"Tie blave up along post, and man come velly sharp sword, cut him all in 'lit pieces while he live."

"And do they do that?" I asked, in horror.

"Neve' find out blave who chop off head," said Ching, with a queer twinkle of the eyes. "No find blave, no can give him lichi."

"Sounds pleasant, Poet, don't it?" said Barkins.

"Horrid!" I cried, with a shudder.

"Moral: Don't try to peep into mandarins' gateways, Blacksmith,"

continued Barkins.

"Bos.h.!.+ it's all gammon. I should like to see one of them try to cut my head off."

"I shouldn't," I cried, laughing; "and he wouldn't."

"No," said Ching perfectly seriously. "Velly bad have head chop off.

Head velly useful."

"Very," said Barkins mockingly. "Well done, Chinese Wisdom. I say, Herrick, why is a mandarin like the Grand Panjandrum?"

"Because he plays at the game of catch, catch, can and can't catch the man who cuts off the English fellow's head," said Smith.

"Wrong!" cried Barkins. "Now you, Poet."

"Because he's got a little round b.u.t.ton on the top."

"Good boy, go up one," cried Barkins.

"Hallo! what place is this?"

"Velly good place, eatee drinkee. All velly nicee nicee."

"Here, I say, Ching," cried Smith, "gently; any one would think we were babies. Stow some of that nicee nicee."

"Yes! Stow all along inside, like s.h.i.+p. Allee good. Come 'long."

For we had reached a showy-looking open-sided building, standing a little way back in a well-kept garden, with rockeries and tiny fish-ponds, clipped trees and paved walks, while the large open house displayed tables and neat-looking waiters going to and fro, attending upon well-dressed Chinamen, whose occupation was so much in accordance with our desires, that we entered at once, and Ching led the way to a table; one of the waiters coming up smiling as soon as we were seated.

"Now then," cried Barkins, who was full of memories of hard biscuit and tough salt beef, "what are we going to have to eat?"

"I don't know," I said, looking round uneasily. "What have they got?"

"Here, let's make Ching order the dinner," cried Smith. "Look here, old chap. We can have a good dinner for a dollar apiece, can't we?"

"Velly 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 cuc.u.mber 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?"