Kwaque looked beseechingly, but did not stir. Nor did he stir at a harsher repetition of the order.
“My word!” the steward bullied. “Suppose ’m you no fetch ’m beer close up, I knock ’m eight bells ’n ’a dog-watch onta you. Suppose ’m you no fetch ’m close up, me make ’m you go ashore ’n’ walk about along King William Island.”
“No can,” Kwaque murmured timidly. “Eye belong dog look along me too much. Me no like ’m dog kai-kai along me.”
“You fright along dog?” his master demanded.
“My word, me fright along dog any amount.”
Dag Daughtry was delighted. Also, he was thirsty from his trip ashore and did not prolong the situation.
“Hey, you, dog,” he addressed Michael. “This fella boy he all right. Savvee? He all right.”
Michael bobbed his tail and flattened his ears in token that he was trying to understand. When the steward patted the black on the shoulder, Michael advanced and sniffed both the legs he had kept nailed to the floor.
“Walk about,” Daughtry commanded. “Walk about slow fella,” he cautioned, though there was little need.
Michael bristled, but permitted the first timid step. At the second he glanced up at Daughtry to make certain.