Hungry as they were, they waited while "Pennsylvania" solemnly asked a blessing.

Then they stoked in silence till Dan drew a breath over his tin cup and demanded of Harvey how he felt.
"'Most full, but there's just room for another piece." The cook was a huge, jet-black negro, and, unlike all the negroes Harvey had met, did not talk, contenting himself with smiles and dumb-show invitations to eat more.
"See, Harvey," said Dan, rapping with his fork on the table, "it's jest as I said.

The young an' handsome men--like me an' Pennsy an' you an' Manuel--we're second ha'af, an' we eats when the first ha'af are through.

They're the old fish; an' they're mean an' humpy, an' their stummicks has to be humoured; so they come first, which they don't deserve.

Aeneid that so, doctor ?" The cook nodded.
"Can't he talk ?" said Harvey in a whisper.
"'Nough to get along.