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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Yo' shuah done gotta use a mo' greasy elbow dan dat, chile," chuckled this imp of Satan aloud, though in a soft voice that seemed out of all proportion to his bulk. Then he gave a half dozen indolent though steady strokes to the handle of the magneto. "Whah am dat 'splosion?" he asked himself in wonderment. "Am mah eardrum done gone busted? Moke, yo' am plumb lazy this night!"
I thought you'd given up that sort of thing years ago!" I rose and shook myself. "Come in, my son," I said. "Righto!" replied Gerald. Then he addressed himself to a figure which, with true delicacy of feeling, had shrunk back into the passage outside. "Come in, Moke, old man. I've got them separated now!" The discreet Master Donkin sidled respectfully in at the door, and Gerald continued.
Silver indeed was nothing if not dogged, as the girl was beginning to find out. "I say, Miss Woodburn," he began in that casual way of his, "I wish you'd take charge of that old yellow moke o' mine." Boy shook her head. He laughed and drew his chair beside her as she worked. Not seldom now he doffed the Puritan with her, and became easy, chaffing, almost gallant.
"Then he gets an order from the captain to give the men their clothes and small stores tobacco, soap, sewing silk, and the like, you know, sir. I was told to come back and report to you, Mr. Colson." "Very good. Get aboard the launch. Can you and the moke get along by yourselves?" he continued, turning to Marcy. "I see you have but one hand."
I got onto the facts sorter slow like, neither of us bein' much on the converse, but afore we hed reached Bolton I managed to savvy the most of it. It seems thet feller Albrecht the big, cock-eyed cuss who played Damon, ye recollect, gents wus the boss of the show. He wus the Grand Moke, an' held the spuds.
The moke struck an attitude as near Ole Bull as he could with his number eleven feet and his hollow chest, and played some diabolical selection from a foreign cat opera that would have been splendid if Wilhelmjor Ole Bull had played it, but the colored brother couldn't get within a mile of the tune.
"There!" cries the commander. "I strike him again!" A wood-chopper this time grasps a floating man who can make little effort for himself. A half-dozen pair of hands bring him aboard. He sinks on a seat. The boat is now full. It leaps less lightly. The commander is jubilant. He thinks himself safe. He returns to his favorite topic, the mascot. "You're from the Africa, ain't you? Bail, you moke!
He puts down the lad. "Walk, you moke!" he commands. The twain labor hand in hand to the point. The man sinks like a drunkard upon the sands wet with the tempest. When Corkey regains his senses four men are lifting him in a wagon. The mascot sits on the front seat. Four newspaper reporters want his complete account.
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