"There's oodles of it, and oodles of it, and, without kith or kin, I have so little time longer to live that I shall not need it much or much of it." And so the Ship of Fools sailed on, all aft fooling and befouling, from the guileless-eyed, gentle-souled Finnish mate, who, with the scent of treasure pungent in his nostrils, with a duplicate key stole the ship's daily position from Captain Doane's locked desk, to Ah Moy, the cook, who kept Kwaque at a distance and never whispered warning to the others of the risk they ran from continual contact with the carrier of the terrible disease.
Kwaque himself had neither thought nor worry of the matter.

He knew the thing as a thing that occasionally happened to human creatures.

It bothered him, from the pain standpoint, scarcely at all, and it never entered his kinky head that his master did not know about it.

For the same reason he never suspected why Ah Moy kept him so at a distance.

Nor had Kwaque other worries.