Sucks books

"
After no little trouble Kennedy and I discovered our "hop joint"
and were admitted by Nichi Moto, of whom we had heard. Kennedy
gave me a final injunction to watch, but to be very careful not to
seem to watch.
Nichi Moto with an eye to business and not to our absorbing more
than enough to whet our descriptive powers quickly conducted us
into a large room where, on single bamboo couches or bunks, rather
tastefully made, perhaps half a dozen habitues lay stretched at
full length smoking their pipes in peace, or preparing them in
great expectation from the implements on the trays before them.
Kennedy relieved me of the responsibility of cooking the opium by
doing it for both of us and, incidentally, dropping a hint not to
inhale it and to breathe as little of it as possible. Even then it
made me feel badly, though he must have contrived in some way to
get even less of the stuff than I. A couple of pipes, and Kennedy
beckoned to Nichi.
"Where is Mr. Clendenin?" he asked familiarly. "I haven't seen him
yet.


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