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"Veil, you not vorry, boy; you voud be no good on ze war-sheep. But now you come wis me to ze Capitaine bring ze olif."
"I vant none of zos zings; Saint Cristoval, non! non! Ze Capitaine he tole me get him some of ze olif haf you no olif in ze leetle boat?" The darkies shook their heads, instantly starting in again to call their wares, but the fellow on the rail waved them back. "Zen ve don't vant you here!" he cried shrilly. "Go vay dam quick, or else ze soldier shoot."
Even as he spoke, fumbling the lock of his gun, that same head observed before suddenly popped over the high rail like Punch at a pantomime. "Vat zat you say, nigger?" its owner cried doubtingly. "Vas it ze olif you haf zare in ze leetle boat?" I eagerly held up into view a choice handful of green fruit, my eyes hopeful. "Oui, Señor Oppercer fresh olibs; same as ob your lan'."
"Bring ze leetle boat along ze side of ze sheep, you black fellar, an' come up here wiz ze olif fer ze Capitaine." "Scull in close against those steps, Alphonse," I muttered, overjoyed at this rare stroke of good fortune. "Then pull out a few strokes; but stay alongside until I come back. Don't let any one get aboard, and keep a quiet tongue yourself."
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