This, then, was the prince of grafters, the all-powerful of that region. As Poo-Bah walked towards the dancers every eye was on him; and if any face denoted anything save disgust and loathing, it was fear. A girl slid up to him and said, in a tone of confident familiarity, "Hullo! Poo-Bah. How's my baby to-night?"
"I told you not to call me that!" he answered fiercely.
"What—baby?"
"No, Poo-Bah!"
"That's what they call you," she said with a strange affectation of simplicity.
"Well, they won't make friends with me by doing so," he boomed, "and I'm a pretty good friend to have."
"Ain't you going to buy the wine?"
"I suppose so; but ain't you got that thirst of yours wet up yet?"
"I've got to live."
Just then Poo-Bah and the girl, popularly known as "Round-Eyes," were joined by two men. One was a strong big fellow with a bronzed face, who had been a master-mariner. The other was Hardman, the record clerk of the Gold Commissioner's office, evil-looking and a weakling. His small black eyes were watery.