But it was no time for their private feud. Mr. Pike turned on the
dreaming new-comers and addressed them in the mangled and aborted
phrases of a dozen languages such as the world-wandering Anglo-Saxon
has had every opportunity to learn but is too stubborn-brained and
wilful-mouthed to wrap his tongue about.
The visitors made no reply. They did not even shake their heads.
Their faces remained peculiarly relaxed and placid, incurious and
pleasant, while in their eyes floated profounder dreams. Yet they
were human. The blood of their injuries stained them and clotted on
their clothes.
"Dutchmen," snorted Mr. Pike, with all due contempt for other breeds,
as he waved them to make themselves at home in any of the bunks.
Mr. Pike's ethnology is narrow. Outside his own race he is aware of
only three races: niggers, Dutchmen, and Dagoes.
Again our visitors proved themselves human. They understood the
mate's invitation, and, glancing first at one another, they climbed
into three top-bunks and closed their eyes.
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