"I was just fearin' you'd be wantin' me along, sir .-- Kwaque, you take 'm my fella dunnage belong me, put 'm in other fella boat along other side." While Kwaque obeyed, the mate sounded the well for the last time, reporting three feet and a half, and the lighter freightage of the starboard boat was tossed in by the sailors.
A rangy, gangly, Scandinavian youth of a sailor, droop-shouldered, six feet six and slender as a lath, with pallid eyes of palest blue and skin and hair attuned to the same colour scheme, joined Kwaque in his work.
"Here, you Big John," the mate interfered.

"This is your boat.

You work here." The lanky one smiled in embarrassment as he haltingly explained: "I tank I lak go along cooky." "Sure, let him go, the more the easier," Nishikanta took charge of the situation.

"Anybody else ?" "Sure," Dag Daughtry sneered to his face.

"I reckon what's left of the beer goes with my boat.