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"Sow-see, sow-see, hun-gay," Mr Gibney saluted the Chinaman in a facetious attempt to talk the latter's language. "Hello, there, John Chinaman. How's your liver? Captain he allee same get tired; he no waitee. Wha's mallah, John. Too long time you no come. You heap lazy all time." Gin Seng smiled his bland, inscrutable Chinese smile. "You ketchum two China boy in box?" he queried.

"Suminagot!" said Algy. "All time too muchee monkey fooling! My dinner not git leady, Van, you savvy that? What's mallah you?" Van ignored the cook, in addressing the men. "It's your earnest desire to apologize, boys, I believe," he said. "All in favor will please say Aye." The men said Aye in growlings, rumblings, and pipings. Van addressed his cook. "Do you want them to kiss your hand?" "Ah!

"Haven't you worked on shinbones and heavenly hopes before?" inquired the busy leader of the partnership. "And that reminds me, Algy, what about you?" he added to the Chinese cook. "We can't afford a tippe-bob-royal chef of your dimensions after this. I guess you'll have to poison somebody else." "What's mallah you, Van?" Algy demanded aggressively. "You makee me velly sick.

Dick, on the summer day of celebration when at last Van came down to dinner. At sight of the wan, wasted figure, Algy, in his characteristic way, fought down his heathen emotions. "What's mallah you, Van?" he demanded, his face oddly twitching as he spoke. "Makee evlybody sick! That velly superstich! Nobody's got time cly for you come home makee my dinner spoil!"

The business of tracking as may be conceived, is extremely fatiguing and dangerous: in fact, so excellent a test does it furnish of the muscular powers and courage of man, that the heads of the Mallah tribes require that each Mallah should make three trips to Bagdad, as a tracker, before he can be qualified for the married state and the care of a family.

He may or may not have known what rumors there were, but wanting the good-will of all influential residents in his widening scheme for money-making, he tried to soften the asperities of the interchange: "Wa'ss mallah, Mis' Le'llyn?" he asked. "Ev'ybody fliend fo' you. Nobody makee tlouble fo' you 'bout Davie.

"Well," said Van judicially, "Algy's entitled to his share." He raised his voice: "Hey there, Algy come out here and play with the boys." Mrs. Dick had caught sufficient breath to explode. "Fun!" she said. "My windows broken! My house all upset. Snakes alive, if ever I heard " Algy appeared and interrupted. "What's mallah you, Van?" he said. "I got no time fool lound now. Been play too much.

He still had good red beans, most excellent coffee, corn-fed bacon, the best of bread and butter, a hunger-inspiring stew of lamb, white potatoes, fine apple sauce, and superlative gingerbread on hand in great abundance, however, but in spite of it all he spluttered. "What's mallah you, Van?" he demanded several times. "Wha' for no tell me blingee ladies? How you s'plose I gettee dinner?