The niggers--well, had not he seen them always compelled to remain in their lesser place?
Had he not seen them, on occasion, triced up to the palm-trees of the Meringe compound and their backs lashed to ribbons by the white-gods?
Small wonder that a high-born Irish terrier, in the arms of love of the white-god, should look at niggers through white-god's eyes, and act toward niggers in the way that earned the white-god's reward of praise.
It was a busy day for Jerry.

Everything about the _Arangi_ was new and strange, and so crowded was she that exciting things were continually happening.

He had another encounter with the wild-dog, who treacherously attacked him in flank from ambuscade.

Trade boxes belonging to the blacks had been irregularly piled so that a small space was left between two boxes in the lower tier.

From this hole, as Jerry trotted past in response to a call from the skipper, the wild-dog sprang, scratched his sharp puppy-teeth into Jerry's yellow-velvet hide, and scuttled back into his lair.
Again Jerry's feelings were outraged.