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In less than another half hour, Christy heard a knock on the cabin door, which was the signal from the second lieutenant that it was time to begin operations. He crawled to the front of the space beneath the berth at the sound, and at the same moment Dave came in at the door of the stateroom, which had been left open.

āļĄāļē āļŠ āļ„āļē āļĢāđˆāļē āđ€āļ‚āļĩāļĒāļ§ āđƒāļ™ āļ•āđāļē āļ™āļēāļ™ "Well, Mr. Passford, are you all right?" asked the surgeon, as soon as he discovered Christy in the dim light of the place. The breach was closed, and Corny produced the sealed envelope. "Dave," said the wounded lieutenant, the next time the steward came into the room, "no more 'massa,' no more 'moggywompus,' no more 'done do it.' You know better than to use such expressions, and you are no longer a 'nigger;' you are the ship's steward of the Bronx." "Dr. Connelly?"

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