Gimmee a pipe, Pidgin."
Ah-Fang-Fu barred the door and ascended.
"Comee here," he muttered, "my placee, all full up and no other placee
b'long open."
Bill Bean slapped him boisterously on the back.
"Cut the palaver, Pidgin, and gimme a pipe. Piecee pipe, Pidgin!"
He lurched across the floor, nearly falling over Stuart's legs, took
up a mat and a cushion, lurched into the further corner and cast
himself down.
"Ain't I one o' yer oldest customers, Pidgin?" he inquired. "One o'
yer oldest, I am."
"Blight side twelve-time," muttered the Chinaman. "Getchee me in
tlouble, Bill. Number one police chop."
"Not the first time it wouldn't be!" retorted the fireman. "Not the
first time as you've been in trouble, Pidgin. An' unless they 'ung
yer--which it ain't 'umanly possible to 'ang a Chink--it wouldn't be
the last--an' not by a damn long way ..._an'_ not by a damn long way!"
Ah-Fang-Fu, shrugging resignedly, shuffled from bunk to bunk in quest
of a disused pipe, found one, and returning to the extemporised table,
began to load it, muttering to himself.
"Don't like to 'ear about your wicked past, do you?" continued Bill.
"Wicked old yellow-faced 'eathen! Remember the 'dive' in 'Frisco,
Pidgin? _Wot_ a rough 'ouse! Remember when I come in--full up I was:
me back teeth well under water--an' you tried to Shanghai me?"
"You cutee palaber. All damn lie," muttered the Chinaman.
"Ho! a lie is it?" roared the other.
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