A WHITE-LIVERED, sneaky-looking chap sidled up to me and stuck out a
dirty card.
“That’s my name on there,” said he; “Jake Beason, and I’m the best
Chinatown guide that’s on the beat; I’ll show you everything from
joss-house to hop-holes.”
“Do you know the Barbary Coast?”
“Do I know--Oh, come now! Why, say, I live over that way,” he snarled
through the corner of his mouth; and he looked at me as though I had
insulted his intelligence.