My word, Binu Charley finish altogether.

S'pose me kill 'm him, no good along me.

Plenty white fella marster cross along me.

S'pose me no kill 'm him, bimeby he give me plenty tobacco, plenty calico, plenty everything too much." "There is only the one thing to do," Sheldon said to Joan.
She drummed with her hand and waited, while Binu Charley gazed wearily at her with unblinking eyes.
"I'll start the first thing in the morning," Sheldon said.
"We'll start," she corrected.

"I can get twice as much out of my Tahitians as you can, and, besides, one white should never be alone under such circumstances." He shrugged his shoulders in token, not of consent, but of surrender, knowing the uselessness of attempting to argue the question with her, and consoling himself with the reflection that heaven alone knew what adventures she was liable to engage in if left alone on Berande for a week.