THE AUTHOR OF "TRIXIE"
187
as he can produce the manuscript he has us on toast. If we could only get him to take the thing out of the safe deposit, we might be able to lay hands on it and abolish it. But what's going to make or persuade him to take it out? Nothing short of torture."
At this moment a barrel-organ, outside the house, struck up the air of a song which Chloë knew well. She had sung the words of its chorus a thousand times while threading the mazes of the seven step. And now, from force of habit, she began to sing them yet again. They were:
Oh! Way down by the Yang-tse-Kiang,
That's where she dwells, my own little China girl,
My own baby China Girl,
With her eyes so blue
And true.
You never, never, never saw a finer Girl.
For her cunning name is Wei-hai-wei.
Sweet little almond blossom
Of Shanghai.
That's where she dwells, my own little China girl,
My own baby China Girl,
With her eyes so blue
And true.
You never, never, never saw a finer Girl.
For her cunning name is Wei-hai-wei.
Sweet little almond blossom
Of Shanghai.
