"You boy," he cried, "you still heah?" He scowled at me with a particularly
savage intensity, then suddenly leaned over and tapped me on the shoulder.
"You's right, boy," he whispered. "He ain't got no manner of use foh dem
other gen'lems, and what's mo', dey ain't got no manner of use foh him.
Ah's telling you, boy, it's darn lucky, you bet, dat Mistah Falk he eats at
second table. Yass, sah. Hark! dah's de bell--eight bells! Yo' watch on
deck, hey?" After a short pause, he whispered, "Boy, you come sneakin'
round to-morrow night when dat yeh stew'd done gone to bed, an' Ah'll jest
gadder you up a piece of pie f'om Cap'n's table--yass, sah! Eight bells is
struck. Go 'long, you." And shoving me out of his little kingdom, the
villainous-looking darky sent after me a savage scowl, which I translated
rightly as a token of his high regard and sincere friendship.
In my delight at the promised treat, and in my haste to join the watch, I
gave too little heed to where I was going, and shot like a bullet squarely
against a man who had been standing just abaft the galley window. He
collapsed with a grunt. My shoulder had knocked the wind completely out of
him.
"Ugh!--" he gasped--"ugh! You son of perdition--ugh! Why in thunder don't
you look where you're running--ugh!--I'll break your rascally young
neck--ugh--when I get my wind.
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