As for me, I felt as I remember feeling after partaking meekly of what one of my aunts used to call prune tea--a decoction made by boiling so many French plums along with half an ounce of senna leaves.
"Oh gracious!" murmured Barkins; while Smith uttered a low groan.
"You both likee more ?" said Ching blandly.
"No!" they cried so unanimously that it was like one voice; and in spite of my own disgust and unpleasant sensations I felt as if I must laugh at them.
"Oh, mawkish morsels!" muttered Barkins.
"You feel you have 'nuff ?" said Ching, smiling.

"Oh no.

Loas' suck-pig come soon.

You eat velly much more." "Not if I know it," whispered Smith to me.

"I don't believe it'll be pig." "What then ?" I whispered back.
"Kid." "Well, kid's nice." "Get out! I meant baby." "Ugh! Don't." "It's too late to say don't," groaned Smith.