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Rudolph scanned his meagre belongings, rummaged his dressing-table, opened a wardrobe. "Nothing," he answered. "A boat-coolie " But Heywood had darted to the rack of Mausers, knelt, and sprung up, raging. "Side-bolts! Man," he cried, in a voice that made Rudolph jump, "man, why didn't you stop him? The side-bolts, all but two. Young heathen, he's crippled us: one pair of rifles left."
"Goo-moh? ning-seh. How too you too," he chanted. "I am welly? glat to-see you." A boat-coolie, he explained, had called this house bad names. He, Pêng, threw stones. Bad man. "Out of here, you rascal!" Rudolph flicked a riding-whip at the scampering legs, as the small defender of his honor bolted for the stairs. "What's wrong?" Heywood appeared promptly at the door.
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