But Chang, with a savage jerk, pulled the hook from Li's mouth, and
looked idly towards the pile of glistening fish, gloating over his
catch, and wondering how much money he could demand for it. He had heard
nothing of Mr. Li's remarks, for Chang had been deaf since childhood.

"Quick, quick, I am dying for air," moaned poor Li, and then, with a
groan, he remembered the fisherman's affliction.

By this time they had arrived at the shore, and Li, in company with his
fellow victims, found himself suddenly thrown into a wicker basket. Oh,
the horrors of that journey on land! Only a tiny bit of water remained
in the closely-woven thing. It was all he could do to breathe.

Joy of joys! At the door of his own house he saw his good friend Sing
just coming out. "Hey, Sing," he shouted, at the top of his voice,
"help, help! This son of a turtle wants to murder me. He has me in here
with these fish, and doesn't seem to know that I am Li, his master.
Kindly order him to take me to the lake and throw me in, for it's cool
there and I like the water life much better than that on land."

Li paused to hear Sing's reply, but there came not a single word.

"I beg your honour to have a look at my catch," said old Chang to Sing.
"Here is the finest fish of the season. I have brought him here so that
you and my honoured master, Mr. Li, may have a treat. Carp is his
favourite delicacy."

"Very kind of you, my good Chang, I'm sure, but I fear poor Mr. Li will
not eat fish for some time. He has a bad attack of fever."