An' no share." "But yourself ?" spoke up the fourth man, a huge-bulking, colossal-bodied, greasy-seeming grossness of flesh--the Armenian Jew and San Francisco pawnbroker the previous steward had warned Daughtry about.

"Have you papers--letters of recommendation, the documents you receive when you are paid off before the shipping commissioners ?" "I might ask, sir," Dag Daughtry brazened it, "for your own papers.

This ain't no regular cargo-carrier or passenger-carrier, no more than you gentlemen are a regular company of ship-owners, with regular offices, doin' business in a regular way.

How do I know if you own the ship even, or that the charter ain't busted long ago, or that you're being libelled ashore right now, or that you won't dump me on any old beach anywheres without a soo-markee of what's comin' to me?
Howsoever"-- he anticipated by a bluff of his own the show of wrath from the Jew that he knew would be wind and bluff--"howsoever, here's my papers.

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