"Looks Like It's Going To Be A Dead-Heat," Johnny Said, Still Hammering, When The Dandy Brought In Word That The Macs Were Within Twelve Miles Of The Homestead.

And when I announced next day that the dining-net was finished and ready for hanging, he also became wildly enthusiastic.

"Told you from the beginning we shouldn't be long," he said, flourishing a hammer and brimming over with suggestions for the hanging of the net. "Rope'll never hold it," he declared; "fencing wire's the thing," so fencing wire was used, and after a hard morning's work pulling and straining the wire and securing it to uprights, the net was in its place, the calico roof smooth and flat against the ceiling, and its curtains hanging to the floor, with strong, straight saplings run through the folded hem to weigh it down. Cheon was brimming over with admiration for it

"My word, boss! Missus plenty savey," he said. (Cheon invariably discussed the missus in her presence.) "Chinaman woman no more savey likee that," and bustling away, dinner was soon served inside the net.

Myriads of flies, balked in their desire, settled down on the outside, and while we enjoyed our dinner in peace and comfort, Cheon hovered about, like a huge bloated buzz fly himself, chuckling around the outside among the swarms of balked flies, or coming inside to see if "any fly sit down inside."

"My word, boss! Hear him sing-out sing-out. Missus plenty savey," he reiterated, and then calling a Chinese friend from the kitchen, stood over him, until he also declared that "missus BLENTY savey," with good emphasis on the BLENTY.

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