Plant. She's your slave, I take it?
Trudge. Yes; and I'm her humble servant, I take it.
Plant. Aye, aye, natural enough at sea.—But at how much do you value her?
Trudge. Just as much as she has saved me—My own life.
Plant. Pshaw! you mean to sell her?
Trudge. [Staring.] Zounds! what a devil of a fellow! Sell Wows!—my poor, dear, dingy, wife!
Plant. Come, come, I've heard your story from the ship.—Don't let's haggle; I'll bid as fair as any trader amongst us. But no tricks upon travellers, young man, to raise your price.——Your wife, indeed! Why she's no christian!
Trudge. No; but I am; so I shall do as I'd be done by: and, if you were a good one yourself, you'd know, that fellow-feeling for a poor body, who wants your help, is the noblest mark of our religion.—I wou'dn't be articled clerk to such a fellow for the world.
Plant. Hey-day! the booby's in love with her! Why, sure, friend, you would not live here with a black?
Trudge. Plague on't; there it is. I shall be laughed out of my honesty, here.—But you may be jogging, friend; I may feel a little queer, perhaps, at showing her face—but, dam me, if ever I do any thing to make me asham'd of showing my own.