A gay and animated scene did the bazaar present. Back and forth through the temporary street surged an endless throng of natives of every shade of complexion and variety of costume—buying, selling, shouting, jabbering, drinking with friends or fighting with enemies.
“Much cry and little wool,” laughed Jack. “There's a big black fellow yonder auctioning off some pearl oysters; let's have a go at the next lot.”
“All right,” assented Don; “perhaps we'll have a stroke of luck. The guv knew a poor half-caste once who bid in just such a chance lot as this, and in one of them he found sixty-eight thumping big pearls. Cleared thousands of pounds by that one bid, the guv says. Pug! here, Pug!”
“Coming, sa'b,” gasped a faint voice, and Puggles wriggled his way from amongst the bystanders, shining with abundant perspiration and squeezed well-nigh flat by the pressure of the crowd.
“Pug,” said his master, “up on this creel with you, and when that big black fellow yonder puts up his next lot, bid 'em in.”
Up went Puggles, nothing loth to escape further squeezing, and up went the auctioneer's next lot. In five minutes' time the few dozens of oysters composing the lot were knocked down to the black boy at an absurdly low figure.
“Here you are,” said Don, handing him the coin. “Pass that over, and fetch the things away till we see what's inside them.”
Making a dive for the oysters, Puggles scrambled them into his cloth, and followed the sahibs to the outskirts of the crowd, blowing like a porpoise. Finding a convenient patch of shade beneath a banyan tree within a few yards of the lazy surf, they proceeded to ascertain, without further delay, whether the shells contained anything of value.
“Him plenty smell got, anyhow,” commented Puggles, as he arranged the oysters, which had been several days out of the water, in a small pyramid.
Jack threw himself on the sand, and surveyed the rough, discoloured heap with unqualified disgust. “They don't look very promising, I must say,” he cried. “Try that big one on top, Don.”