A Very Jaunty, Confident Cheon Entered The Lists, But A Very Surprised,
Chagrined Cheon Retired In High Dudgeon.
"What's 'er matter!" he said
indignantly.
"Him too muchee heavy fellow. S'pose him little fellow me
chuck him all right," explaining a comical failure with even more comical
explanations. Soon after the retirement of our crestfallen Cheon, hot
cakes were served by a Cheon all rotundity and chuckles once more, but
immediately afterwards, a snort of indignation riveted our attention on
an exceedingly bristling, dignified Cheon, who was glaring across the
enclosure at two of our neighbour's black-boys, one of whom was the
bearer of a letter, and the other, of a long yellow vegetable-marrow.
Right up to the house verandah they came, and the letter was presented to
the Maluka, and the marrow to the missus in the presence of Cheon's glare
and an intense silence; for most of the bush-folk had heard of the
cabbage insult. Cheon had seen to that.
"Hope you will wish me luck while enjoying my little gift," said the
letter, and mistaking its double meaning, I felt really vexed with our
neighbour, and passing the marrow to Cheon, reflected a little of his
bristling dignity as I said: "This is of no use to any one here, Cheon;
you had better take it away "; and as Cheon accepted it with a grateful
look, those about the verandah, and those without the garden, waited
expectantly.
But there was to be no unseemly rage this time. In dignified silence
Cheon received the marrow - a sinuous yellow insult, and as the homestead
waited he raised it above his head, and stalking majestically from us
towards the finished part of the fence, flung it from him in contemptuous
scorn, adding a satisfied snort as the marrow, striking the base of a
fence post, burst asunder, and the next moment, after a flashing swoop,
he was grovelling under the wires, making frantic efforts to reach a baby
bottle of whisky that had rolled from within the marrow away beyond the
fence. "Cognac!" he gasped, as he struggled, and then, as shouts greeted
his speedy success, he sat up, adding comically: "My word! Me close up
smash him Cognac." At the thought came his inevitable laughter, and as he
leant against the fence post, surrounded by the shattered marrow, he sat
hopelessly gurgling, and choking, and shaking, and hugging his bottle,
the very picture of a dissolute old Bacchanalian. (Cheon would have
excelled as a rapid change artist). And as Cheon gurgled, and
spluttered, and shook, the homestead rocked with yells of delight, while
Brown of the Bulls rolled and writhed in a canvas lounge, gasping between
his shouts: "Oh, chase him away, somebody; cover him up. Where did you
catch him?"
Finally Cheon scrambled to his feet, and, perspiring and exhausted,
presented the bottle to the Maluka. "My word, me cross fellow!" he said
weakly, and then, bubbling over again at the recollection, he chuckled:
"Close up smash him Cognac all right." And at the sound of the chuckle
Brown of the Bulls broke out afresh:
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