"Looking around," retorted Tom, grimly.
"Allee same—git!"
The guide had approached, taking a swift, shifty look in at the bunk.
"That's Doc Gaston, isn't it?" whispered Tom, over his shoulder.
"Don't ye know him?" queried the guide, suspiciously.
"He looks strange, with that glassy look in his eyes."
"That's Doc Gaston, all right. 'Least, that's what he calls himself in Chinatown."
"You allee same git—chop-chop," snarled the Chinaman, savagely. He had put the smoking outfit on the floor once more, and now pushed against the motor boat boy with both hands, trying to force him from the room. Tom, however, coolly and gravely picked the short Chinaman up off his feet, wheeled and put him down again on the floor of the bunkroom beyond.
"Now, shove off!" ordered Halstead, half gruffly. "Don't bother me again."
After flashing an ugly look at the motor boat boy, the Chinaman fled in the direction of the store.