Around one fire, cooking their breakfasts, were Muroc the charcoalman, Duclosse the mealman, and Garotte the lime-burner.

They all were in good spirits.
"For my part," Muroc was saying, as Parpon nodded at them, and passed by, "I'm not satisfied." "Don't you get enough to eat ?" asked the mealman, whose idea of happiness was based upon the appreciation of a good dinner.
"But yes, and enough to drink, thanks to His Excellency, and the buttons he puts on my coat." Muroc jingled some gold coins in his pocket.

"It's this being clean that's the devil! When I sold charcoal, I was black and beautiful, and no dirt showed; I polished like a pan.

Now if I touch a potato, I'm filthy.

Pipe-clay is hell's stuff to show you up as the Lord made you." Garotte laughed.