Hand me my cane, dar, Nancy, I ain't gwine to 'trude my 'siety on nobody." And Peggy hobbled off, not without a most contemptuous look at Bacchus, who was making unsuccessful efforts to rise in compliment to his master.
"As for you, Bacchus," said Mr.Weston, "never let this happen again.

I will not allow you to wait at barbecues, in future." "Don't say so, master, if you please; dat ox, if you could a smelled him roastin, and de whiskey-punch," and Bacchus snapped his finger, as the only way of concluding the sentence to his own satisfaction.
"Take him off, Mark," said Mr.Weston, "the drunken old rascal." "Master," said Bacchus, pushing Mark off, "I don't like de way you speak to me; t'aint 'spectful." "Carry him off," said Mr.Weston, again.

"John, help Mark." "Be off wid yourselves, both of ye," said Bacchus; "if ye don't, I'll give you de devil, afore I quits." "I'll shut your mouth for you," said Mark, "talking so before master; knock him over, John, and push him out." Bacchus was not so easily overcome.

The god whose namesake he was, stood by him for a time.

Suddenly the old fellow's mood changed; with a patronizing smile he turned to Mr.Weston, and said, "Master, you must 'scuse me: I aint well dis evening.