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That's all Sam Kow. Mista Yen Sin keepee colla when Mista Minista come back; give new colla: one, two, five, seven time; Mista Minista say: 'You washy colla fine, Yen Sin: this colla, allee same like new. Mista Matee Snow, his colla allee same like new, too " Something happened so suddenly that none of us knew what was going on.
My cousin Duncan was there, constable of Urkey village, and he saw it too and came a step out of his corner. It was all over in a wink; Mate Snow lifted his shoulders with a sigh, as much as to say: "You can see how far gone the poor fellow is." The Chinaman, careless of the little by-play, went on. "Mista Sam Kow nice China fella. Mista Minista go to Mista Sam Kow in Infield, washy colla.
I've brought you that collar for five years now, and it still seems new." The minister's face fell a little. Yen Sin continued grave and alert. "And Mista Matee Snow, yes? His colla allee same like new, yes?" "Yes, I must say!" The other shook himself. "But it's not that, brother. We're all of us wicked, Yen Sin, and unless we " "Mista Minista wickee?"
Mista Yen Sin lite a letta to Mista Sam Kow, on Mista Minista colla-band. See? Mista Sam Kow lite a letta back on colla-band. See?" We saw that the yellow man was no longer talking at random, but slowly, with his eyes on the collar he held in his hand, like a scholar in his closet, perusing the occult pages of a chronicle.
He frightened me. Quite abruptly, as if an unexpected reservoir of energy had been tapped, the dying man lifted on an elbow and slid one leg over the edge of the couch. Then he glanced at me with an air almost furtive. "Boy," he whispered. "Run quick gettee Mista Minista, yes." "But he's coming himself," I protested. "You better lay back." "Mista Yen Sin askee please! Please, boy."
I am sure he did not see me on the bench; he was looking at Yen Sin. "How is it with you to-night, my brother?" The Chinaman straightened up and faced him, grave, watchful. "Fine," he said. "Mista Yen Sin fine. Mista Minista fine, yes?" He bowed and motioned his visitor to a rocker, upholstered with a worn piece of Axminster and a bit of yellow silk with half a dragon on it.
Any time Mista Minista wantee confessee, Mista God makee allee light. Mista Yen Sin allee same like Mista God. Wait. Wait. Wait. Laugh. Cly inside!" Mate Snow was leaning forward on the bench in a queer, lazy attitude, his face buried in his hands and his elbows propped on his knees.
"Mista God," he went on in the same speculative tone, "Mista God know allee bad things, allee same like Mista Yen Sin, yes?" "Where is the minister?" I demanded in desperation. "Mista Yen Sin likee see Mista Minista." When he added, with a transparent hand fluttering over his heart: "Like see pletty quick now," I seemed to fathom for the first time what was happening to him.
I thought he had forgotten me, he was so engrossed in his handiwork. "Lat colla?" he mused by-and-by. "Lat's Mista Minista, boy." "Mister Minister Malden?" And there both of us stared a little, for there was a voice at the door. "Yes? Yes? What is it?" Minister Malden stood with his head and shoulders bent, wary of the low door-frame, and his eyes blinking in the new light.
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