“On the scutcheon we’ll have a bend or in the dexter base, a saltire murrey in the fess, with a dog, couchant, for common charge, and under his foot a chain embattled, for slavery, with a chevron vert in a chief engrailed, and three invected lines on a field azure , with the nombril points rampant on a dancette indented; crest, a runaway nigger, sable , with his bundle over his shoulder on a bar sinister; and a couple of gules for supporters, which is you and me; motto, Maggiore Fretta, Minore Otto. Got it out of a book⁠—means the more haste the less speed.”

“Geewhillikins,” I says, “but what does the rest of it mean?”