They acted on Cheon like a red rag on a bull. Flinging them from him, he
sent them spinning across the stony ground with two furious kicks,
following them up with further furious kicks as we looked on in
speechless amazement. "What's 'er matter?" he growled, as, abandoning
the chase with a final lunge, he stalked indignantly back to us; and as
the unfortunate cabbages turned over and lay still on their tattered
backs, he began to explain his wrath. Was he not paid to grow cabbages,
he asked, and where had he failed that we should accept cabbages from
neighbours? Cabbages for ourselves, but insults for him! Then, the
comical side of his nature coming to the surface as unexpectedly as his
wrath, he was overcome with laughter, and clung to a verandah post for
support, while still speechless, we looked on in consternation, for
laughing was a serious matter with Cheon.
"My word, me plenty cross fellow," he gasped at intervals and finally led
the way to the vegetable garden, where he cut an enormous cabbage and
carried it to the store to weigh it. The scale turned at twelve pounds,
and, sure of our ground now, we compared its mighty heart to the stout
heart of Cheon--a compliment fully appreciated by his Chinese mind; then,
having disparaged the tattered results to his satisfaction, we went to
the house and wrote a letter of thanks to our neighbour, giving him so
vivid a word-picture of the reception of his cabbages that he felt
inspired to play a practical joke on Cheon later on.
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