briskly, and Tom Carruthers looked on fuming, and Simpson and the other half-dozen European subordinate old hands obeyed him with confident alacrity. Carruthers would have "wrung every dirty yellow neck," "kicked them to blazes," "boiled them in their own paraffin"; but Simpson and the English others thought that old Holman would win through somehow—if he couldn't, no one could—and they were serenely confident that every troubling coolie there would get his drastic deserts to the full—when Holman thought wise and had time, but not before.
But just once Holman forgot himself. When the searching was over (sure enough one tin had been successfully smuggled on and hidden) and the reloading half done, the coolies struck again. And the over-tired manager felt with Tom that that was too much.
Tom was nearly maudlin with rage by now, and when, in reply to Holman's angry, "The men never behaved so like hell before. What the thunder does it mean?" the compradore had said oilily, "Me no savee—no catchee more money—no can do work," Holman lost grip on himself and blurted out thunderously, "They work damn well for Wu Li Chang, don't they?" and regretted it as soon as he had said it.
Murder flashed through the compradore's eyes for an infinitesimal instant, and a venomous hiss snarled through his teeth. Holman had heard and seen a rabid dog snarl so once. But the Chinese commanded himself again instantly, and said meekly, almost sweetly: "Me no savee. Wantee more money, lelse no can do work."
Holman commanded himself as quickly and as well as the native had, and said, speaking as calmly (and almost as slowly), "Get that ship loaded—three days' pay—understand?"
