“You black thief, help me into my berth. I will lie down until the storm is over.”
“Best stay where you are, sah. Berry comfortable as you are.”
“Imp of Etna, ghoul of Vesuvius, forbear. If you insult me, I’ll—I’ll spiflicate you.”
“What that, Massa Mole?”
“Knock you into smithereens.”
“Me take your wooden leg, sah, and baste the bear with it.”
“Rather give me some ice to cool my head. These storms always affect me.”
“Ice am a luxury in dese parts where it nebber freezes. Wrap a wet towel round um head.”
“Do that and I will forgive you.”
Monday lifted him up, sat the old man in a chair, and applied a wet towel to his cranium.