“No pwofession! no twade! what the dooce daw yaw intend dawing in Jamaica? P’waps yaw expect the situation of book-keepaw on a pwantation, or niggaw-dwivaw. Neithaw, I believe, requiaws much expewience, as I am told the book-keepaw has pwositively no books to keep—haw! haw! and shawly any fellaw, howevaw ignowant, may dwive a niggaw. Is that yaw expectation, my worthy fwend?”
“I have no expectation, one way or another,” replied the young man, in a tone of careless indifference. “As to the business I may follow out here in Jamaica, that, I suppose, will depend on the will of another.”
“Anothaw! aw!—who, pway?”
“My uncle.”
“Aw, indeed! yaw have an uncle in Jamaica, then?”
“I have—if he be still alive.”
“Aw—haw! yaw are not shaw of that intewesting fact? P’waps yaw’ve not heard from him wately?”
“Not for years,” replied the young steerage passenger, his poor prospects now having caused him to relinquish the satirical tone which he had assumed. “Not for years,” repeated he, “though I’ve written to him to say that I should come by this ship.”
“Veway stwange! And pway, may I ask what bisness yaw uncle follows?”
“He is a planter, I believe.”