"It beats a free show for results and expense," said Painless Porter. "All you got to have is the tents and the Japs and the Willie-off-the-yacht togs." He sighed. "There ought to be some advantages," he concluded, "to drag a man so far from the street lights."
"Then this isn't much of a pleasure trip?" asked Bob with some amusement.
"Pleasure, hell!" snorted Painless, helping himself to a drink. "Say, honest, how do you fellows that have business up here stick it out? It gives me the willies!"
One of the Japanese peered into the tent and made a sign.
Painless Porter dropped his voice.
"A dope already," said he. He put on his air, and went out. As Bob and Baker crossed the enclosed space, they saw him in conversation with a gawky farm lad from the plains.
"I shore do hate to trouble you, doctor," the boy was saying, "and hit Sunday, too. But I got a tooth back here—"
Painless Porter was listening with an air of the deepest and gravest attention.
[a/]