"There is only one thing to do," said Ajax; "we must rescue The Babe.
We'll spin a dollar to determine who goes to the city to-morrow
morning."
I nodded, for I was smelling the letter; the taint of opium was on it.
"Awful--isn't it?" murmured Ajax. "Do you remember those loathsome
dens in Chinatown? And the creatures on the mats, and in the bunks!
And that missionary chap, who said how hard it was to reclaim them.
Poor Babe!"
Then we filled our pipes and smoked them slowly. We had plenty to
think about, for rescuing an opium-fiend is no easy job, and
reclaiming him afterwards is as hard again. But The Babe's blue eyes
and his pink skin--what did they look like now?--were pleading on his
behalf, and we remembered that he had played in his school eleven, and
could run a quarter-mile in fifty-eight seconds, and was always cheery
and good-tempered. The woods of the Colonies and the West are full of
such Babes; and they all like to play with edged tools.
Next day we both went north. Ajax said that two heads were better than
one, and that it was not wise to trust oneself alone in the stews of
San Francisco.
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