32 “Les.” 32 “What is your name?” “Won Lue.” “Belong to the labor battalion?” “Les. Plenty blad men b’long labor blattalion,” observed Won. “So I have heard, but surely you are not a bad man, Won?” He shook his head with emphasis. “Me good Chinaman, a-la.” “I am glad to hear that.” “Well, I never,” declared Elfreda Briggs. “One would think you and Won were very old friends. Better look out for those oily Orientals. They are not to be trusted.” “So I have been told,” replied Grace absently. “I wonder where Mrs. Smythe has taken herself. Ah, here comes one of her aides.” The young woman said she had come for the supervisor’s bags, having been directed there by the officer who had come to their assistance on the river bank. “I trust Mrs. Smythe is feeling better,” said Grace with a voice full of sympathy. “You are Miss Cahill, I believe?” “Yes. Madame is in high temper because they have put her in a cellar. The lieutenant told her she was in luck that she didn’t have to33 wrap herself up in a blanket and sleep on the ground, which did not serve to improve her temper. I wish we might stay here with you two ladies.” 33 “Why not come with us, then?” urged Grace. “The supervisor wouldn’t let me. However, I am going to request that we be relieved some way.”
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