"Ha! white man heap big fraud," he exclaimed as he hung the wig at his belt.
"I'm very sorry, sir," replied Mole. "But I couldn't help growing bald. It's my misfortune, not my fault—nature did it—all my family lose their hair quite early in life."
"Give watch, money!"
"Certainly, with the greatest pleasure in life," said Mole, emptying his pockets.
He handed out some currency, a watch and chain, chewing tobacco and a small flask of spirits.
"What this? fire-water, hey?"
"Yes, good, kind sir. It's old rye whisky."
"If bad, Indian kill lying pale-face," said Jack, tasting the whisky and handing it to Harvey and Van Hoosen, who evinced their satisfaction by guttural sounds and grunts.
Harvey contented himself with cutting Mr. Twinkle's hair as short as he could, and Van Hoosen did the same for the fire-eating captain.
They then tore up their hats and the close-cropped looked as if they had just come out of jail, while Mole's polished crown shone in the sunshine like a ball of ivory.