CHAPTER III. A LITTLE GAME OF POKER.
"Well, Ned, how do our fellow-passengers strike you? This is a pretty hard crowd, isn't it?" asked Chance, as his eyes wandered over the mob of men of every nationality, who were jostling one another on board the steamer Umatilla, ten minutes after she had left Victoria for New Westminster.
"Yes, they look pretty tough, most of them," assented Corbett; "but a three-weeks' beard, a patch in the seat of your pants, and a coat of sun-tan, will bring you down to the same level, Steve. Civilized man reverts naturally to barbarism as soon as he escapes from the tailor and the hair-dresser."
"That's what, sonny! And I believe the only difference between a white man and a siwash, is that one has had more sun and less soap than the other."
"Oh, hang it, no! I draw the line there," cried Corbett. "But look, there go the gamblers already;" and Ned pointed to a little group which had gathered together aft, the leading spirit amongst them appearing to be a dark, overdressed person, who was inviting everybody at the top of his voice to "Chip in and take a drink."
"They don't mean to lose much time, do they?" remarked Chance. "And, by the way, do you see that the 'mammoth hustler,' our own colonel, is among them?"
"And seems to know every rascal in the gang," muttered Corbett.
"Come and look on, Ned, and don't growl. You don't expect a real-estate agent to be a saint, do you?" remonstrated Chance.
"Not I. I don't care a cent for cards. You go if you like. I'll just loaf and look at the scenery."