Dampeemere kind of flunny,
Mister Dawson."
"Funny, Chung?" queried Dawson, observing for the first time that
the Chinaman's queue stood up as straight as a garden stake, and
almost scraped the ceiling as its owner moved about. "Funny?"
"Yeppee, flunny," returned Chung, with a shiver. "Me no likee. Me
flightened."
"Oh, come!" said Dawson, with an affected lightness. "What are you
afraid of?"
"Slumting," said Chung. "Do' know what. Go to bled; no sleepee;
pigtail no stay down; heart go thump allee night."
"By Jove !" thought Dawson; "he's got it too!"
"Evlyting flunny here," resumed Chung.
"Jack he no likee too."
Jack was the mastiff.
"What's the matter with Jack?" queried Dawson. "You don't mean to
say Jack's afraid?"
"Do' know if he 'flaid," said Chung, "He growl most time."
Clearly there was no comfort for Dawson here. To rid him of his
fears it was evident that Chung could be of no assistance, and
Chung's feeling that even Jack was affected by the uncanny something
was by no means reassuring. Dawson went out into the yard and
whistled for the dog, and in a moment the magnificent animal came
bounding up.
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