I think he rather prided himself upon his familiarity with the English language--especially that part which is censored so severely by editors that only a half-dozen words are permitted to appear in cold type, and sometimes even they must hide their faces behind such flimsy veils as this: d----n.

So if I never quote Mr.Pochette verbatim, you'll know why.
"I theenk you will not wish for cross on the reever, no ?" he began ingratiatingly.

"The weend she blow lak -- -- -- -- -- --, and my boat, she zat small, she -- -- -- --." I caught King looking at us from under his eyebrows, so I was airily indifferent to wind or water.

"Sure, we want to cross," I said.

"Just as soon as we finish our smoke, Pochette." "But, mon Dieu!" (Ever hear tell of a Frenchman that didn't begin his sentences that way?
In this case, however, Pochette really said just that.) "The weend, she blow lak -- --" "'A hurricane; bimeby by she blaw some more,'" I quoted bravely.