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A light was flashed swiftly into my eyes, and desultory remarks which suddenly escaped me were rudely interrupted by shrill screams. My boy was singing. "Master," he cried, pulling hard-heartedly at my left big toe to wake me, "come on, come on; you wantchee makee get up. Have got two o'clock. Get up; p'laps me no wakee you, no makee sleep no b'long ploper.
"For God's sake, Sing, what is the matter?" cried von Horn. "Where is Miss Maxon?" "Big blute, he catchem Linee. Tly kill Sing. Head hit tlee. No see any more. Wakee up all glone," moaned the Chinaman as he tried to gain his feet. "Which way did he take her?" urged von Horn. Sing's quick eyes scanned the surrounding jungle, and in a moment, staggering to his feet, he cried, "Look see, klick!
"Hi me wakee can do," he said in his broken pigeon English, although from having been several voyages he spoke more intelligibly than the majority of his countrymen, "Mass' Looney me axee lookee after lilly pijjin, and so me fetchee piecee coffee number one chop. You wanchee hey?" "Thank you," I cried gratefully, drinking the nice hot coffee, which seemed delicious though there was no milk in it.