He was big and strong-looking enough to suggest that he was not a boy it would be easy to dispose of, but it was not that which made the group stand still a moment to stare at him. It was something in himself--half of it a kind of impartial lack of anything like irritation at the stone-throwing. It was as if it had not mattered to him in the least. It had not made him feel angry or insulted. He was only rather curious about it. Because he was clean, and his hair and his shabby clothes were brushed, the first impression given by his appearance as he stood in the archway was that he was a young "toff" poking his nose where it was not wanted; but, as he drew near, they saw that the well-brushed clothes were worn, and there were patches on his shoes. "What did you do that for?" he asked, and he asked it merely as if he wanted to find out the reason. "I'm not going to have you swells dropping in to my club as if it was your own," said the hunchback. "I'm not a swell, and I didn't know it was a club," Marco answered. "I heard boys, and I thought I'd come and look. When I heard you reading about Samavia, I wanted to hear." He looked at the reader with his silent-expressioned eyes. "You needn't have thrown a stone," he added. "They don't do it at men's clubs. I'll go away." He turned about as if he were going, but, before he had taken three steps, the hunchback hailed him unceremoniously. "Hi!" he called out. "Hi, you!" "What do you want?" said Marco. "I bet you don't know where Samavia is, or what they're fighting about." The hunchback threw the words at him. "Yes, I do. It's north of Beltrazo and east of Jiardasia, and they are fighting because one party has assassinated King Maran, and the other will not let them crown Nicola Iarovitch. And why should they? He's a brigand, and hasn't a drop of royal blood in him." "Oh!" reluctantly admitted the hunchback. "You do know that much, do you? Come back here." Marco turned back, while the boys still stared. It was as if two leaders or generals were meeting for the first time, and the rabble, looking on, wondered what would come of their encounter. "The Samavians of the Iarovitch party are a bad lot and want only bad things," said Marco, speaking first. "They care nothing for Samavia. They only care for money and the power to make laws which will serve them and crush everybody else. They know Nicola is a weak man, and that, if they can crown him king, they can make him do what they like." The fact that he spoke first, and that, though he spoke in a steady boyish voice without swagger, he somehow seemed to take it for granted that they would listen, made his place for him at once. Boys are impressionable creatures, and they know a leader when they see him. The hunchback fixed glittering eyes on him. The rabble began to murmur. "Rat! Rat!" several voices cried at once in good strong Cockney. "Arst 'im some more, Rat!" "Is that what they call you?" Marco asked the hunchback.