"Now then," said Mr Brooke, after a few minutes' pause, "what's the
first thing, Herrick? We can't keep watch for the junks in this boat."
"The first thing is to get her mended, sir."
"Yes; but how?"
"Let's ask Ching."
"Ching!" said Mr Brooke angrily.
"You wantee Ching?" came in the familiar highly-pitched voice from
forward. "You wantee Ching go buy new boatee?"
He came hurrying aft, nearly tumbling once; while, left to his own power
alone, the coxswain redoubled his efforts to keep down the water, and
the tin baler went _scoop scroop, scoop scroop_, and _splash splash_, as
he sent the water flying.
But the dark, angry expression of Mr Brooke's countenance repelled the
Chinaman, and he stopped short and looked from one to the other in a
pleading, deprecating way, ending by saying piteously--
"You no wantee Ching?"
Mr Brooke shook his head, and our interpreter went back over the
thwarts, reseated himself, and began to bale again, with his head bent
down very low.
"Give way, my lads," said Mr Brooke, bearing hard on the tiller, and
the boat began to bear round as he steered for the landing-place a
quarter of a mile away.