"Yes," he stammered; "I--I'll get it for you."
He passed into his bedroom, caught up the written list from a table, and
for a moment stood as if dreaming. Before him the Mausers, polished and
orderly, shone in their new rack against the lime-coated wall. Though
appearing to scan them, Rudolph saw nothing but his inward confusion.
"After all this man did for me," he mused. What had loosed the bond,
swept away all the effects?
A sound near the window made him turn. An imp in white and red livery,
Peng, the little billiard-marker from the club, stood hurling things
violently into the outer glare.
"What thing you do?" called Rudolph, sharply.
Some small but heavy object clattered on the floor. The urchin stooped,
snatched it up, and flung it hurtling clean over the garden to the
river. He turned, grinning amiably. "Goo-moh? ning-seh. How too you
too," he chanted. "I am welly? glat to-see you." A boat-coolie, he
explained, had called this house bad names. He, Peng, threw stones.
Bad man.
"Out of here, you rascal!" Rudolph flicked a riding-whip at the
scampering legs, as the small defender of his honor bolted for
the stairs.
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