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"What name, you?" he demanded. "Sangui?" "Me Mahua," was the answer. "All right, you fella Mahua. You finish cook along boys. You stop along white Mary. All the time you stop along. You savvee?" "Me savvee," she grunted, and obeyed his gesture to go to the grass house immediately. "What name?" he asked Viaburi, who had just come out of the grass house. "Big fella sick," was the answer.
Big fella schooner brother belong my father he come along. All finish this place Su'u. Brother belong my father Su'u boys kai-kai along him altogether." Van Horn recollected the Fair Hathaway of fifteen years before, looted and burned by the people of Su'u after all hands had been killed.
I was frequently warned "Subpose me catch em young fella 'debil-debil' when he come from mother belonga him, no good you give him much tucker. Gib him plenty water. He got fire inside. Smoke come out alonga nose." Given the possibility of its capture, there was no reason why I should not indulge the frugal joy of having a small and comparatively innocent "debil-debil" on the chain.
He was a man in authority and full of territorial pride; his son's dominance was undoubted, for did he not chide the "big fella gubbermen" on its audacity in disposing of his Island his country even to a friendly white man?
And if they get freight there with less delay than you fail to avoid, and can do it for the same figure, they're gonta rampse you that's all. "Certain parties are lookin' into the matter already," he went on. "There's one fella here in Frisco that's got a fleet o' trucks fella named Albert Drummond. Shrewd customer, too. He was tryin' to make a dicker with us. But we'll make no deals.
God big fella marster, He gammon along you. But Adam he speak, 'No. But Eve she talk, talk, talk, allee time allee same Mary she talk along boy along Queensland and make 'm trouble along boy. And bimeby Adam he tired too much, and he speak, 'All right. So these two fella they go eat 'm. When they finish eat 'm, my word, they fright like hell, and they go hide along scrub.
"I have a whole lot to say," he replied, "but I don't know how to say it!" She laughed at that, and he liked the strong, quick sound of her laughter. "You're the quare wee fella," she exclaimed. Wee fellow! He flushed and straightened himself. "I was passing along the road," he said stiffly, "and I thought I'd come up and see your uncle!..." "Oh!" she answered. "Yes.
The sheriff whistled. "Shooting-scrapes come high." "Oh, I ain't sore at him. What makes me sore is this here law that sticks a fella up and takes his money makin' him pay for somethin' he never done. A poor man would have a fine chance, fightin' a rich man in court, now, wouldn't he?" "There's something in that. The Law, as it stands, is all right." "Mebby.
Well, he was there, an' his goggles nearly cracked when he sawr the money paid two points over the market price, an' all." "Sometimes one spots a winner by chanst," observed Simmonds judicially. "An' that reminds me. Last night a fella tole me there was a good thing at Kempton to-day.... Now, what was it?"
That fella, him no good. Him sing out all a time. More better tchuck'm away." Frail outcast the very scum of a blacks' camp, its repulsiveness was tragic. Dirt and odour sickened, yet its appeal was irresistible. That universal language, a human cry, which everywhere and always quickened the pulse, stirred pity to its depths.
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