Whatever Spanish
or English vocabulary Timoteo used, he aroused two or three Chinamen
to forsake their frames of drying fish and cease tossing over the
other small fish that lay drying on the ground.
Seizing the long, heavy iron rods with which the Chinese were wont
to go abalone-hunting, the three Celestials followed in Timoteo's
wake toward the place where Herbert anxiously awaited rescue. There
was much prying with the iron rods before the stone was finally
tilted enough so that the drenched prisoner was released.
"My father pay you," gratefully promised Herbert to the Chinamen,
who nodded and plodded cheerfully back toward their tiny fishing-
village.
Herbert looked at Timoteo.
"I'm much obliged to you," said Herbert. "You were good to run for
help."
But now that Timoteo had seen the success of his helpers, an abashed
silence seemed to have overtaken him. He did not answer. The silence
lasted till the two boys reached the cliffs. Herbert grew uneasy.
His conscience accused him somewhat.
"Come to my house, Timoteo, and my father will give you something
for helping me," promised Herbert uneasily, as the boys climbed the
cliffs.
Timoteo shook his head, but he did not look up.
"See here, Timoteo," burst out Herbert, stopping on top of the
cliffs, "what's the matter? Do you hate me?"
Timoteo glanced up slowly.
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