nterest for Wilbur than the water-front. In the mile or so of shipping
that stretched from the docks where the China steamships landed, down
past the ferry slips and on to Meiggs's Wharf, every maritime nation
in the world was represented. More than once Wilbur had talked to
the loungers of the wharves, stevedores out of work, sailors
between voyages, caulkers and ship chandlers' men looking--not too
earnestly--for jobs; so that on this occasion, when a little, undersized
fellow in dirty brown sweater and clothes of Barbary coast cut asked
him for a match to light his pipe, Wilbur offered a cigar and passed
the time of day with him. Wilbur had not forgotten that he himself was
dressed for an afternoon function. But the incongruity of the business
was precisely what most amused him.

After a time the fellow suggested drinks. Wilbur hesitated for a moment.
It would be something to tell about, however, so, "All right, I'll drink
with you," he said.

The brown sweater led the way to a sailors' boarding-house hard by. The
rear of the place was built upon piles over the water. But in front, on
the ground floor, was a barroom.

"Rum an' gum," announced the brown sweater, as the two came in and took
their places at the bar.

"Rum an' gum, Tuck; wattle you have, sir?"

"Oh--I don't know," hesitated Wilbur; "give me a mild Manhattan."

While the drinks were being mixed the brown sweater called Wilbur's
attention to a fighting head-dress from the Marquesas that was hung on
the wall over the free-lunch counter and opposite the bar. Wilbur turned
about to look at it, and remained so, his back to the barkeeper, till
the latter told them their drinks were ready.

"Well, mate, here's big blocks an' taut hawse-pipes," said the brown
sweater cordially.

"Your very good health," returned Wilbur.

The brown sweater wiped a thin mustache in the hollow of his palm, and
wiped that palm upon his trouser leg.

"Yessir," he continued, once more facing the Marquesas head-dress.
"Yessir, they're queer game down there."

"In the Marquesas Islands, you mean?" said Wilbur.

"Yessir, they're queer game. When they ain't tattoin' theirselves with
Scripture tex's they git from the missionaries, they're pullin' out
the hairs all over their bodies with two clam-shells. Hair by hair, y'
understan'?"

"Pull'n out 'er hair?" said Wilbur, wondering what was the matter with
his tongue.

"They think it's clever--think the women folk like it."