And gladly, sir, thank you, sir, Daughtry cried. And Ill make it up with a new cat as well, sir Come on, Killeny Boy. This big fella marster he all right, you bet.
And Michael listened. Not with the smouldering, smothering, choking hysteria that still worked in the fox-terriers did he listen, nor with quivering of muscles and jumps of over-wrought nerves, but coolly, composedly, as if no battle royal had just taken place and no rips of teeth and kicks of feet still burned and ached his body.
He could not help bristling, however, when first he sniffed a trousers leg into which his teeth had so recently torn.
Put your hand down on him, sir, Daughtry begged.
And Captain Duncan, his own good self once more, bent and rested a firm, unhesitating hand on Michaels head. Nay, more; he even caressed the ears and rubbed about the roots of them. And Michael the merry-hearted, who fought like a lion and forgave and forgot like a man, laid his neck hair smoothly down, wagged his stump tail, smiled with his eyes and ears and mouth, and kissed with his tongue the hand with which a short time before he had been at war.
CHAPTER VII
For the rest of the voyage Michael had the run of the ship. Friendly to all, he reserved his love for Steward alone, though he was not above many an undignified romp with the fox-terriers.
The most playful-minded dog, without being silly, I ever saw, was Dag Daughtrys verdict to the Shortlands planter, to whom he had just sold one of his turtle-shell combs. You see, some dogs never get over the play-idea, an theyre never good for anything else. But not Killeny Boy. He can come down to seriousness in a second. Ill show you, and Ill show you hes got a brain that counts to five an knows wireless telegraphy. You just watch.
At the moment the steward made his faint lip-noise so faint that he could not hear it himself and was almost for wondering whether or not he had made it; so faint that the Shortlands planter did not dream that he was making it. At that moment Michael was lying squirming on his back a dozen feet away, his legs straight up in the air, both fox-terriers worrying with well-stimulated ferociousness. With a quick out-thrust of his four legs, he rolled over on his side and with questioning eyes and pricked ears looked and listened. Again Daughtry made the lip-noise; again the Shortlands planter did not hear nor guess; and Michael bounded to his feet and to his lords side.
Some dog, eh? the steward boasted.
But how did he know you wanted him? the planter queried. You never called him.
Mental telepathy, the affinity of souls pitched in the same whatever-you-call-it harmony, the steward mystified. You see, Killeny an me are made of the same kind of stuff, only run into different moulds. He might a-been my full brother, or me his, only for some mistake in the creation factory somewhere. Now Ill show you he knows his bit of arithmetic.
And, drawing the paper balls from his pocket, Dag Daughtry demonstrated to the amazement and satisfaction of the ring of passengers Michaels ability to count to five.
Why, sir, Daughtry concluded the performance, if I was to order four glasses of beer in a public-house ashore, an if I was absent-minded an didnt notice the waiter d only brought three, Killeny Boy there d raise a row instanter.
Kwaque was no longer compelled to enjoy his jews harp on the gratings over the fire-room, now that Michaels presence on the Makambo was known, and, in the stateroom, on stolen occasions, he made experiments of his own with Michael. Once the jews harp began emitting its barbaric rhythms, Michael was helpless. He needs must open his mouth and pour forth an unwilling, gushing howl. But, as with Jerry, it was not mere howl. It was more akin to a mellow singing; and it was not long before Kwaque could lead his voice up and down, in rough time and tune, within a definite register.
Michael never liked these lessons, for, looking down upon Kwaque, he hated in any way to be under the blacks compulsion. But all this was changed when Dag Daughtry surprised them at a singing lesson. He resurrected the harmonica with which it was his wont, ashore in public-houses, to while away the time between bottles. The quickest way to start Michael singing, he discovered, was with minors; and, once started, he would sing on and on for as long as the music played. Also, in the absence of an instrument, Michael would sing to the prompting and accompaniment of Stewards voice, who would begin by wailing kow-kow long and sadly, and then branch out on some old song or ballad. Michael had hated to sing with Kwaque, but he loved to do it with Steward, even when Steward brought him on deck to perform before the laughter-shrieking passengers.
Two serious conversations were held by the steward toward the close of the voyage: one with Captain Duncan and one with Michael.
Its this way, Killeny, Daughtry began, one evening, Michaels head resting on his lords knees as he gazed adoringly up into his lords face, understanding no whit of what was spoken but loving the intimacy the sounds betokened. I stole you for beer money, an when I saw you there on the beach that night I knew youd bring ten quid anywheres. Ten quids a horrible lot of money. Fifty dollars in the way the Yankees reckon it, an a hundred Mex in China fashion.
Now, fifty dollars gold d buy beer to beat the band enough to drown me if I fell in head first. Yet I want to ask you one question. Can you see me takin ten quid for you?.. Go on. Speak up. Can you?
And Michael, with thumps of tail to the floor and a high sharp bark, showed that he was in entire agreement with whatever had been propounded.
Or say twenty quid, now. Thats a fair offer. Would I? Eh! Would I? Not on your life. What dye say to fifty quid? That might begin to interest me, but a hundred quid would interest me more. Why, a hundred quid all in beer d come pretty close to floatin this old hooker. But who in Sam Hilld offer a hundred quid? Id like to clap eyes on him once, thats all, just once. Dye want to know what for? All right. Ill whisper it. So as I could tell him to go to hell. Sure, Killeny Boy, just like that oh, most polite, of course, just a kindly directin of his steps where hed never suffer from frigid extremities.
Michaels love for Steward was so profound as almost to be a mad but enduring infatuation. What the stewards regard for Michael was coming to be was best evidenced by his conversation with Captain Duncan.
Sure, sir, he must ve followed me on board, Daughtry finished his unveracious recital. An I never knew it. Last I seen of m was on the beach. Next I seen of m there, he was fast asleep in my bunk. Now howd he get there, sir? Howd he pick out my room? I leave it to you, sir. I call it marvellous, just plain marvellous.
With a quartermaster at the head of the gangway! Captain Duncan snorted. As if I didnt know your tricks, Steward. Theres nothing marvellous about it. Just a plain case of steal. Followed you on board? That dog never came over the side. He came through a port-hole, and he never came through by himself. That nigger of yours, Ill wager, had a hand in the helping. But lets have done with beating about the bush. Give me the dog, and Ill say no more about the cat.
Seein you believe what you believe, then youd be for compoundin the felony, Daughtry retorted, the habitual obstinate tightening of his brows showing which way his will set. Me, sir, Im only a ships steward, an it wouldnt mean nothin at all bein arrested for dog-stealin; but you, sir, a captain of a fine steamer, howd it sound for you, sir? No, sir; itd be much wiser for me to keep the dog that followed me aboard.
Ill give ten pounds in the bargain, the captain proffered.
No, it wouldnt do, it wouldnt do at all, sir, an you a captain, the steward continued to reiterate, rolling his head sombrely. Besides, I know wheres a peach of an Angora in Sydney. The owner is gone to the country an has no further use of it, an itd be a kindness to the cat, air to give it a good regular home like the Makambo.
CHAPTER VIIII
Another trick Dag Daughtry succeeded in teaching Michael so enhanced him in Captain Duncans eyes as to impel him to offer fifty pounds, and never mind the cat. At first, Daughtry practised the trick in private with the chief engineer and the Shortlands planter. Not until thoroughly satisfied did he make a public performance of it.
Now just suppose youre policemen, or detectives, Daughtry told the first and third officers, an suppose Im guilty of some horrible crime. An suppose Killeny is the only clue, an youve got Killeny. When he recognizes his master me, of course youve got your man. You go down the deck with him, leadin by the rope. Then you come back this way with him, makin believe this is the street, an when he recognizes me you arrest me. But if he dont realize me, you cant arrest me. See?
The two officers led Michael away, and after several minutes returned along the deck, Michael stretched out ahead on the taut rope seeking Steward.
Whatll you take for the dog? Daughtry demanded, as they drew near this the cue he had trained Michael to know.
And Michael, straining at the rope, went by, without so much as a wag of tail to Steward or a glance of eye. The officers stopped before Daughtry and drew Michael back into the group.
Hes a lost dog, said the first officer.
Were trying to find his owner, supplemented the third.
Some dog that whatll you take for m? Daughtry asked, studying Michael with critical eyes of interest. What kind of a tempers he got?
Try him, was the answer.
The steward put out his hand to pat him on the head, but withdrew it hastily as Michael, with bristle and growl, viciously bared his teeth.
Go on, go on, he wont hurt you, the delighted passengers urged.
This time the stewards hand was barely missed by a snap, and he leaped back as Michael ferociously sprang the length of the rope at him.
Take m away! Dag Daughtry roared angrily. The treacherous beast! I wouldnt take m for gift!
And as they obeyed, Michael strained backward in a paroxysm of rage, making fierce short jumps to the end of the tether as he snarled and growled with utmost fierceness at the steward.
Eh? Whod say he ever seen me in his life? Daughtry demanded triumphantly. Its a trick I never seen played myself, but Ive heard tell about it. The old-time poachers in England used to do it with their lurcher dogs. If they did get the dog of a strange poacher, no gamekeeper or constable could identify m by the dog mum was the word.
Tell you what, he knows things, that Killeny. He knows English. Right now, in my room, with the door open, an so as he can find m, is shoes, slippers, cap, towel, hair-brush, an tobacco pouch. Whatll it be? Name it an hell fetch it.
So immediately and variously did the passengers respond that every article was called for.
Just one of you choose, the steward advised. The rest of you pick m out.
Slipper, said Captain Duncan, selected by acclamation.
One or both? Daughtry asked.
Both.
Come here, Killeny, Daughtry began, bending toward him but leaping back from the snap of jaws that clipped together close to his nose.
My mistake, he apologized. I aint told him the other game was over. Now just listen an, watch. n see if you can catch on to the tip Im goin to give m.
No one saw anything, heard anything, yet Michael, with a whine of eagerness and joy, with laughing mouth and wriggling body, was upon the steward, licking his hands madly, squirming and twisting in the embrace of the loved hands he had so recently threatened, making attempts at short upward leaps as he flashed his tongue upward toward his lords face. For hard it was on Michael, a nerve and mental strain of the severest for him so to control himself as to play-act anger and threat of hurt to his beloved Steward.
Takes him a little time to get over a thing like that, Daughtry explained, as he soothed Michael down.
Now, Killeny! Go fetch m slipper! Wait! Fetch m one slipper. Fetch m two slipper.
Michael looked up with pricked ears, and with eyes filled with query as all his intelligent consciousness suffused them.
Two slipper! Fetch m quick!
He was off and away in a scurry of speed that seemed to flatten him close to the deck, and that, as he turned the corner of the deck-house to the stairs, made his hind feet slip and slide across the smooth planks.
Almost in a trice he was back, both slippers in his mouth, which he deposited at the stewards feet.
The more I know dogs the more amazin marvellous they are to me, Dag Daughtry, after he had compassed his fourth bottle, confided in monologue to the Shortlands planter that night just before bedtime. Take Killeny Boy. He dont do things for me mechanically, just because hes learned to do m. Theres more to it. He does m because he likes me. I cant give you the hang of it, but I feel it, I know it.
Maybe, this is what Im drivin at. Killeny cant talk, as you n me talk, I mean; so he cant tell me how he loves me, an hes all love, every last hair of m. An actions speakin louder n words, he tells me how he loves me by doin these things for me. Tricks? Sure. But they make human speeches of eloquence cheaper n dirt. Sure its speech. Dog-talk thats tongue-tied. Dont I know? Sure as Im a livin man born to trouble as the sparks fly upward, just as sure am I that it makes m happy to do tricks for me.. just as it makes a man happy to lend a hand to a pal in a ticklish place, or a lover happy to put his coat around the girl he loves to keep her warm. I tell you..
Here, Dag Daughtry broke down from inability to express the concepts fluttering in his beer-excited, beer-sodden brain, and, with a stutter or two, made a fresh start.
You know, its all in the matter of talkin, an Killeny cant talk. Hes got thoughts inside that head of his you can see m shinin in his lovely brown eyes but he cant get em across to me. Why, I see m tryin to tell me sometimes so hard that he almost busts. Theres a big hole between him an me, an language is about the only bridge, and he cant get over the hole, though hes got all kinds of ideas an feelings just like mine.
But, say! The time we get closest together is when I play the harmonica an he yow-yows. Music comes closest to makin the bridge. Its a regular song without words. And.. I cant explain how.. but just the same, when weve finished our song, I know weve passed a lot over to each other that dont need words for the passin.
Why, dye know, when Im playin an hes singin, its a regular duet of what the sky-pilots d call religion an knowin God. Sure, when we sing together Im absorbin religion an gettin pretty close up to God. An its big, I tell you. Big as the earth an ocean an sky an all the stars. I just seem to get hold of a sense that were all the same stuff after all you, me, Killeny Boy, mountains, sand, salt water, worms, mosquitoes, suns, an shootin stars an blazin comets..