"Wait, Ching come show way," he whispered.  And as I saw that the mandarin's men were coming nearer and evidently meant mischief, Ching raised his instrument again, and, after a preliminary flourish, began once more, to the delight of the crowd.  My messmates and I slowly left our places and walked round the summer-house towards the little bridge over one of the gold-fish tanks, moving as deliberately as we could, while Ching's voice rang out, "Ti--ope--I--ow!" as if nothing were the matter.