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"If you don't, we'll drag you out into the street and turn you over to the policemen. You 'sabby' that? You heathen are pretty likely to get into prison for this day's work!" Scowling for a moment, then muttering savagely, the two helpers slunk back to their ironing boards.
I handed him a card as I spoke, and suddenly addressing him in "pidgin," of which, fortunately, I had a smattering: "Belong very quick, Ah Tsong," I said, sharply, "or plenty big trouble, savvy?" "Sabby, sabby," he muttered, nodding his head; and leaving me standing in the porch he retired along the sparsely carpeted hall.
"How do you do?" she said, raising her voice still higher, and advancing toward the señora with outstretched hand. "I suppose you're Mrs. Gonsallies." The señora disentangled one arm slowly from her rebozo, and gave the newcomer a large, brown, cushiony hand. "This is my fawther," continued the girl, waving her left hand toward her companion; "sabby?"
"Oh Massa Geral, for Hebben's sake no talkee dat. It berry long time ago, and break poor nigger heart to tink ob it " "But I insist on knowing," returned Gerald loudly and peremptorily; "were you old enough to recollect the curse that poor heart-broken woman, Ellen Halloway, uttered on all our race, and if so what was it?" "No, Massa Geral, I no sabby dat.
The scowl on Chow Hop's face was ominous, but he stood still, glaring at Dave. "Chow, what can we do to bring this man out of his sleep!" asked Dave coolly, and almost in a friendly tone. "Me no sabby," sulked the Chinaman. "Yes, you do," retorted Dave warningly. "Now, what can we do to get our friend out of this!" "None of that, now, you yellow-face!" glared Dave.
Now, listen," she went on, fixing her wide gray eyes on the señora, and speaking in a loud, measured voice. "I am Idy Starkweather. This is my fawther. There! Now! Sabby?" Evidently she considered failure to understand English a species of physical disability which might be overcome by strong concentration of the will. The señora turned a bland, unmoved face upon her son.
Colin Camber inclined his head, clapped his bands, and silently Ah Tsong entered. The Inspector stared at him for several moments as a visitor to the Zoo might stare at some rare animal; then: "Your name is Ah Tsong?" he began. "Ah Tsong," murmured the Chinaman. "I am going to ask you to give an exact account of your movements last night." "No sabby." Inspector Aylesbury cleared his throat.
"How shall we get our comrade out of this opium sleep!" "Me no sabby no way," insisted Chow. "Oh, yes, you do!" snapped Dave. "But you won't tell. All right; we'll find the way, and we'll punish you into the bargain. Dan, get a piece of paper from the other room." Dalzell was quickly back with the desired item. On the paper Dave wrote a name and a telephone number.
"Don't you know a cake o' Smyrna when you smells it?" "No sabby lead chop till ploddem withee dipper," explained the Chinaman, imperturbably. "Lead!" shouted the man. "There ain't no bloody lead in 'em!" "H'm," murmured Sin Sin Wa smilingly. "So fashion, eh? All velly proper."
He turned again down a wooden-walled hallway that reminded him of a Mott Street burrow. When the Chinaman touched him on the sleeve he came to a stop. His guide was pointing to a closed door in front of them. "You sabby?" he demanded. Blake hesitated. He had no idea of what was behind that door, but he gathered from the Chinaman's motion that he was to enter.
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