“You are learning to be suspicious! I am proud of you!”

“But my doodlebug doesn’t have to ride inside him or anything like that.”

“Good,” said Honoré. But he could see that Calvin was worried now.

Every single one of the newly arrived slaves had something to give the man. The women were not as trusting as the men. They didn’t have them in their hands or the scant clothing they wore—they spat these things from their mouths into the dipper. “Some of them have two,” said Calvin. “Two thingamajigs.” When there was something in the dipper, the waterboy always put it into the right-hand bucket. He was building up quite a collection in there.

Last in line were a dozen or so good-sized children, looking far more terrified and weak than the adults. None of them had anything for the waterboy.

“The women who had two,” said Honoré.

“Yes,” said Calvin. “For the children.”

In the midst of serving them, the waterboy clumsily knocked over the right-hand bucket, spilling water over the hot boards of the dock. He served the rest of the children from the other one. When the last was served, they saw why he had spilled the important pail, for one of the sailors snatched up the bucket that still had water and dashed it onto the back of the last child. This was uproariously funny to the White stevedores. While they laughed, the waterboy knelt, scooped everything out of the other bucket, and tucked it into the small basket he carried.

He wasn’t home free, though. The foreman stopped him just as he started away from the dock. “What you got in that?” he demanded, pointing at the basket.

“I don’t know what my master put there,” said the waterboy.

“I know one thing he better put there,” said the foreman.

The two men looked at each other in grim silence for a long time, until finally the waterboy grinned and rolled his eyes and reached into the basket. “I so stupid, boss, I so stupid, I plumb forget.” He took out a coin and offered it to the foreman.

“Where’s the rest?” asked the foreman.

“That all he give me,” said the waterboy.

“Come on, Denmark,” said the foreman.

“Ah,” whispered Honoré. “We have learned his name.”

“Better be his name,” said Calvin. “He sure as hell ain’t no Scandinavian.”

“Tell you what,” said the foreman. “I’ll tell him you give me one penny and see what he says.”

“But I give you a shilling,” said Denmark.

“You think he’ll believe that, if I tell him otherwise?”

“You get me a whipping, that don’t get you no more money,” said Denmark.

“Get the hell off my dock,” said the foreman.

“You a kind man, boss,” said Denmark, bowing and nodding as he backed away. Then he turned his back and picked up the buckets again, but before he could stand up the foreman planted a foot on his backside and sent him sprawling on the dock. The stevedores and sailors laughed. But the slaves lined up for inspection by the customs officers, they didn’t laugh. And Denmark himself, when he got up from the dock his face didn’t show much amusement. But Calvin and Honoré could see how he composed himself, putting on a silly grin before he turned around. “You a funny man, boss,” said Denmark. “You always make me laugh.”