"Some nigger-chaser, my word, any amount." "Hey, you, Kwaque, go fetch 'm two fella bottle of beer stop 'm along icey-chestis," he commanded in his most peremptory manner.
Kwaque looked beseechingly, but did not stir.

Nor did he stir at a harsher repetition of the order.
"My word!" the steward bullied.

"Suppose 'm you no fetch 'm beer close up, I knock 'm eight bells 'n 'a dog-watch onta you.

Suppose 'm you no fetch 'm close up, me make 'm you go ashore 'n' walk about along King William Island." "No can," Kwaque murmured timidly.

"Eye belong dog look along me too much.