Just like you might
have noticed to-night, I noticed a knot of Chinks scrappin' on
the ground all amongst the dust right in front of me. I rammed
in, windmillin' all round and knocking 'em down like skittles.
Seemed to me there was about ten of 'em, but allowin' for Jimmy's
whisky, maybe there wasn't more than three. Anyway, they all
shifted and left me standin' there in the empty street with this
'ere in my 'and."
At that, without more ado, he thrust his hand deep into some
concealed pocket and jerked out a Chinese pigtail, which had been
severed, apparently some three inches from the scalp, by a clean
cut. My acquaintance, with somewhat bleared eyes glistening in
appreciation of his own dramatic skill--for I could not conceal
my surprise--dangled it before me triumphantly.
"Which of 'em it belong to," he continued, thrusting it into
another pocket and drumming loudly on the counter for more beer,
"I can't say, 'cos I don't know. But that ain't all."
The tankards being refilled and my friend having sampled the
contents of his own:
"That ain't all," he continued. "I thought I'd keep it as a sort
of relic, like. What 'appened? I'll tell you. Amongst the crew
there's three Chinks--see? We ain't through the canal before one
of 'em, a new one to me--Li Ping is his name--offers me five bob
for the pigtail, which he sees me looking at one mornin'.
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