first. After that he would go aboard. So it was all right, of course.

To all of which the beneficent-appearing old man replied: "You pay now.
Ten sen." And, to make matters worse, the other sampan men squatted on
the pier steps, listening.

Alf, chagrined and angry, stood up to step ashore. But the old fellow
laid a detaining hand on his sleeve. "You give shirt now. I take you
'Merican schooner," he proposed.

Then it was that all of Alf's American independence flamed up in his
breast. The Anglo-Saxon has a born dislike of being imposed upon, and
to Alf this was sheer robbery! Ten sen was equivalent to six American
cents, while his shirt, which was of good quality and was new, had cost
him two dollars.

He turned his back on the man without a word, and went out to the end of
the pier, the crowd, laughing with great gusto, following at his heels.
The majority of them were heavy-set, muscular fellows, and the July
night being one of sweltering heat, they were clad in the least possible
raiment. The water-people of any race are rough and turbulent, and it
struck Alf that to be out at midnight on a pier-end with such a crowd of
wharfmen, in a big Japanese city, was not as safe as it might be.

One burly fellow, with a shock of black hair and ferocious eyes, came
up. The rest shoved in after him to take part in the discussion.

"Give me shoes," the man said. "Give me shoes now. I take you 'Merican
schooner."