"Here!" he cried out, "some of you. What have I got to pay? Hurry up, my dusky duchess; I want to be off. Come, don't keep me waiting all day," and he struck the table impatiently with his riding-whip.
Mother Charcoal's assistant, "the imp," ran up.
"How much?"
"One dollar: four shilling," said the lad, in broken English.
"There's your money!" cried Hyde, throwing it down, "and a 'bob' for yourself. Stop!" he added. "Who and what are you? I have seen you before."
The lad, a mere boy, frail-looking and slightly built, but with a handsome, rather effeminate-looking face, tried to slink away.
"What's your name?" went on Hyde.
"Pongo," replied the boy.
"That's no real name. Smacks of the West Coast of Africa. Who gave it you?"
"Mother Charcoal."