"Alas!" he shouted, for we were at a rapid, "my savee makee good chow.
No have got nothing!"

"No have got nothing! No have got nothing!" Mysterious words, what could
they mean? Where, then, was our picul of rice, and our curry, and our
sugar?

"The fellow's a swindler!" cried The Other Man in an angry semitone. But
that's all very well. "No have got nothing!" Ah, there lay the secret.
Presently The Other Man, head of the general commissariat, spoke again
with touching eloquence. He gave the boy to understand that we were
powerless to alter or soften the conditions of the larder, that we were
victims of a horrible destiny, that we entertained no stinging malice
towards him personally--but ... _could he do it?_ Either a great wrath
or a great sorrow overcame the boy; he skulked past, asked us to lie
down on our shelves, where we had our beds, to give him room, and then
set to work.

In twenty-five minutes we had a three-course meal (all out of the same
pot, but no matter), and onwards to our destination we fed royally. In
parting with the men after our safe arrival at Chung-king, we left with
them about seven-eighths of the picul--and were not at all regretful.

I should not like to assert--because I am telling the truth here--that
our boat was bewilderingly roomy. As a matter of fact, its length was
some forty feet, its width seven feet, its depth much less, and it drew
eight inches of water. Yet in it we had our bed-rooms, our
dressing-rooms, our dining-rooms, our library, our occasional
medicine-room, our cooking-room--and all else. If we stood bolt upright