woman we run across, I didn't mean run into. Better luck next time."
But "next time," which was at the slimy jetty of a small and dirty village, brought no better result; indeed, the stones were larger and the yells louder.
"These are all the lowest kind of river-folk," Mark said. "If we could get hold of some one intelligent, it would be all right."
"You've done it again, my lad," Alan muttered. "We're saddled with your precious Ping-Pong for the rest of the trip."
"I'd rather have her for shipmate than Chun Lon, any day in the week," Mark commented.
"Oh, well," Alan said, hauling at the yulow, "if you're going to be absurd!"
Ping-Pong had curled herself to sleep on a mat, with a thumb in her mouth. She sighed at intervals, just like any baby asleep.
"But she's too yellowish," Alan objected.
"What's the diff?" Mark yawned. "I think she's jolly, even if complicating."
It was now, indeed, a strangely assorted outfit: one native boat, whose eyes at the prow certainly did not aid her in finding her way; two
