o which he had sunk. But his head was humming like a pressure gauge,
and his body was banked with unslaked clinkers, and he made his effort
as best he could.

"Friends," he said, swaying on his feet. "I don't--I don't mind if
somebody kindly will set me up to a bracer. I'm passing through to
Amboyna; dropped off a prau up the coast this morning.... It's true I do
a bit with sleight o' hand to pay my way, but I had no luck this trip
and I am asking.... Brandy. Arrack or sagueir, if you say so. It's--it's
quite a while since I had any. I--I want it pretty bad."

In the silence Silva softly held up a finger.

"You," he noted softly, "are a dirty renegade!"

* * * * *

Above, the line of swinging punkahs fanned the thick air with regular
beat. It threw a constant flicker of shadow over the guests. Otherwise
they showed no change of expression. They leaned against the tables and
mopped their faces and drank and looked on. The way many men, not
ingrained with cruelty to begin, have learned to look on at many curious
things in regions where that particular devil does business.

"Pity," suggested the engineer after a time, emptying his glass
deliberately--"a pity he can't pick a flask or two out that bloomin'
hat he's wearin'. 'S big enough."

One of the loafers snickered.

"There's the river waiting for him. Full of drinks. And he could wash in
it too."

"Turn him into those pigpens at the rear," advised the bat-eared clerk.
"Let him try his games on the mixed lot inside, in the back rooms."

"No, sir, you won'!" Zimballo entered a gusty veto. "That sweep? He ain'
fit for my back rooms neither!"

"You're right," said Silva. This yellow man did no mopping; his skin had
the gloss of a salamander's, and his eyes were like dusky jewels. A
humorist in his own fashion he surely was--and his speech was tipped
with malice as with acrid poison. "The blighter's not good enough for
half-castes, even."

"What's the lowest vermin on earth?... Why, the white who's forgot his
own race. It's hard enough at best--isn't it?--to keep yourself topside
with your right authority among a few million saddle-colored monkeys.
But along comes a rascal like that and lives on the folk: acts like 'em;
looks like 'em; _drinks_ like 'em--by God! Then where's your sanguinary
prestige gone?"

He knew how to stir these listless exiles.

"I tell you, when a blasted tramp goes native altogether he needs to be
taugh