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"Ye can holler as much as ye have the moind ter. Be jabers, the next haythen Chinkee that gits out of the darbies I clap on'm 'll be a slippery, slathery eel, and meself after fergittin' to maake a knot in his taale! Come quiet, me good haythen, and I'll dale aisy wid yer."
"You see, my friend, it was either the sack or Chinkee for me. I got the Chinkee. There were plenty of 'em!" "The more cleer and the more shynynge that Fortune is, the more brutil and the sooner breketh she."
The once perky Tsing Hi slunk alongside the far-striding Tim, and Tim looked down at him and was half ashamed of such a "wee scrap of a Chinkee" as his first prisoner. "Come away wid ye, me little fella come away. Doan give me trouble, and ye'll fin' me gintle wid ye. Thry to maake a fool af me, and be the Holy Saints ye'll have occasion to be sorrowful."
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