"Me belong along steamer.

Suppose 'm you take 'm me along canoe, washee-washee, me give 'm you fella boy two stick tobacco." "Suppose 'm you give 'm me ten stick, all right along me," came the reply.
"Me give 'm five stick," the six-quart steward bargained.

"Suppose 'm you no like 'm five stick then you fella boy go to hell close up." There was a silence.
"You like 'm five stick ?" Daughtry insisted of the dark interior.
"Me like 'm," the darkness answered, and through the darkness the body that owned the voice approached with such strange sounds that the steward lighted a match to see.
A blear-eyed ancient stood before him, balancing on a single crutch.

His eyes were half-filmed over by a growth of morbid membrane, and what was not yet covered shone red and irritated.

His hair was mangy, standing out in isolated patches of wispy grey.