CORNELL
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

 

BOUGHT WITH THE INCQME
OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT
FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY

HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE
MICHAEL
BROTHER OF JERRY
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK - BOSTON - CHICAGO + DALLAS
ATLANTA - SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO,, Limrrep
LONDON + BOMBAY - CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Lrp,
TORONTO
 
MICHAEL
BROTHER OF JERRY

BY
JACK LONDON.

Author of “Jerry of the Islands,” “The Call
of the Wild,’’ ‘“The Sea Wolf,” etc.

Nem Pork
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1917

All rights reserved
dL
Coprricut, 1917

By ELIZA SHEPARD
AND
WILLARD L. GROWALL,
BXECUTORS

Set up and electrotyped. Published, November, 1917.

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FOREWORD

Very early in my life, possibly because of the in-
satiable curiosity that was born in me, I came to dislike
the performances of trained animals. It was my
curiosity that spoiled for me this form of amusement,
for I was led to seek behind the performance in order
to learn how the performance was achieved. And
what I found behind the brave show and glitter of per-
formance was not nice. It was a body of cruelty so
horrible that I am confident no normal person exists,
who, once aware of it, could ever enjoy looking on at
any trained-animal turn.

Now Iam nota namby-pamby. By the book review-
ers and the namby-pambys I am esteemed a sort of
primitive beast that delights in the spilled blood of
violence and horror. Without arguing this matter of
my general reputation, accepting it at its current face
value, let me add that I have indeed lived life in a
very rough school and have seen more than the average
man’s share of inhumanity and cruelty, from the fore-
castle and the prison, the slum and the desert, the exe-
cution chamber and the lazar house, to the battlefield
and the military hospital. I have seen horrible deaths
and mutilations. I have seen imbeciles hanged, be-
cause, being imbeciles, they did not possess the hire of
lawyers. I have seen the hearts and stamina of strong
men broken, and I have seen other men, by ill-treat-

ment, driven to permanent and howling madness. I
Vv
vi FOREWORD

have witnessed the deaths of old and young, and even
infants, from sheer starvation. I have seen men and
women beaten by whips and clubs and fists, and I have
seen the rhinoceros-hide whips laid around the naked
torsos of black boys so heartily that each stroke stripped
away the skin in-full circle. ‘And yet, and let me add
finally, never have I been so appalled and shocked by
the world’s cruelty as have I been appalled and shocked
in the midst of happy, laughing, and applauding audi-
ences when trained-animal turns were being performed
on the stage.

One with a strong stomach and a hard head may be
able to tolerate much of the unconscious and undeliber-
ate cruelty and torture of the world that is perpetrated
in hot blood and stupidity. I have such a stomach and
head. But what turns my head and makes my gorge
rise, is the cold-blooded, conscious, deliberate cruelty
and torment that is manifest behind ninety-nine of
every hundred trained-animal turns. Cruelty, as a fine
art, has attained its perfect flower in the trained-animal
world.

Possessed myself of a strong stomach and a hard
head, inured to hardship, cruelty, and brutality, never-
theless I found, as I came to manhood, that I uncon-
sciously protected myself from the hurt of the trained-
animal turn by getting up and leaving the theatre when-
ever such turns came on the stage. I say ‘ uncon-
sciously.”” By this I mean it never entered my mind
that this was a programme by which the possible death-
blow might be given to all trained-animal turns. 1 was
merely protecting myself from the pain of witnessing
what it would hurt me to witness.

But of recent years my understanding of human na-
ture has become such that I realise that no normal
FOREWORD vii

healthy human would tolerate such performances did he
or she know the terrible cruelty that lies behind them
and makes them possible. So I am emboldened to sug-
gest, here and now, three things:

First, let all humans inform themselves of the inevit-
able and eternal cruelty by the means of which only can
animals be compelled to perform before revenue-pay-
ing audiences. Second, I suggest that all men and
women, and boys and girls, who have so acquainted
themselves with the essentials of the fine art of animal-
training, should become members of, and ally them-
selves with, the local and national organisations of
humane societies and societies for the prevention of
cruelty to animals.

And the third suggestion I cannot state until I have
made a preamble. Like hundreds of thousands of
others, I have worked in other fields, striving to organ-
ise the mass of mankind into movements for the pur-
pose of ameliorating its own wretchedness and misery.
It is very difficult to persuade the human into any
organised effort, much less into an organised effort to
alleviate its own ill conditions, and still much less to
alleviate the ill conditions of the lesser animals.

Practically all of us will weep red tears and sweat
bloody sweats as we come to knowledge of the un-
avoidable cruelty and brutality on which the trained-
animal world rests and has its being. But not one-tenth
of one per cent of us will join any organisation for the
prevention of cruelty to animals, and by our words and
acts and contributions work to prevent the perpetration
of cruelties on animals. ‘This is a weakness of our own
human nature. We must recognise it as we recognise
heat and cold, the opaqueness of the non-transparent,
and the everlasting down-pull of gravity.
Vili FOREWORD

And still for us, for the ninety-nine and ninetenths
per cent of us, under the easy circumstance of our own
weakness, remains another way most easily to express
ourselves for the purpose of eliminating from the world
the cruelty that is practised by some few of us, for the
entertainment of the rest of us, on the trained animals,
who, after all, are only lesser animals than we on the
round world’s surface. It is so easy. We will not
have to think of dues or corresponding secretaries.
We will not have to think of anything, save when, in
any theatre or place of entertainment, a trained-animal
turn is presented before us. ‘Then, without premedita-
tion, we may express our disapproval of such a turn by
getting up from our seats and leaving the theatre for a
promenade and a breath of fresh air outside, coming
back, when the turn is over, to enjoy the rest of the
programme. All we have to do is just that to eliminate
the trained-animal turn from all public places of enter-
tainment. Show the management that such turns are
unpopular, and in a day, in an instant, the management
will cease catering such turns to its audiences.

Jack Lonpon.
Glen Ellen,
Sonoma County, California,
December 8, 1915.
MICHAEL
BROTHER OF JERRY
MICHAEL
BROTHER OF JERRY

CHAPTER I

UT Michael never sailed out of Tulagi, nigger-
chaser on the Eugénie. Once in five weeks the.
steamer Makambo made Tulagi its port of call on the
way from New Guinea and the Shortlands to Australia.
And on the night of her belated arrival Captain Kellar
forgot Michael on the beach. In itself, this was noth-
ing, for, at midnight, Captain Kellar was back on the
beach, himself climbing the high hill to the Commission-
er’s bungalow while the boat’s crew vainly rummaged
the landscape and canoe houses.

In fact, an hour earlier, as the Makambo’s anchor
was heaving out and while Captain Kellar was descend-
ing the port gangplank, Michael was coming on board
through a starboard port-hole. This was because Mi-
chael was inexperienced in the world, because he was
expecting to meet Jerry on board this boat since the
last he had seen of him was on a boat, and because he
had made a friend.

Dag Daughtry was a steward on the Makambo, who
should have known better and who would have known
better and done better had he not been fascinated by his
own particular and peculiar reputation. By luck of

birth possessed of a genial but soft disposition and a
I
2 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

splendid constitution, his reputation was that for twenty
years he had never missed his day’s work nor his six
daily quarts of bottled beer, even, as he bragged, when
in the German islands where each bottle of beer carried
ten grains of quinine in solution as a specific against
malaria.

The captain of the Makambo (and, before that, the
captains of the Moresby, the Masena, the Sir Edward
Grace, and various others of the queerly named Burns
Philp Company steamers had done the same) was used
to pointing him out proudly to the passengers as a man-
thing novel and unique in the annals of the sea. And
at such times, Dag Daughtry, below on the for’ard
deck, feigning unawareness as he went about his work,
would steal side glances up at the bridge where the cap-
tain and his passengers stared down on him, and his
breast would swell pridefully, because he knew that the
captain was saying: ‘‘ See him! that’s Dag Daughtry,
the human tank. Never’s been drunk or sober in
twenty years, and has never missed his six quarts of
beer per diem. You wouldn’t think it, to look at him, ’
but I assure you it’s so. I can’t understand. Gets my
admiration. Always does his time, his time-and-a-half
and his double-time over time. Why, a single glass of
beer would give me heartburn and spoil my next good
meal. But he flourishes on it. Look at him! Look
at him!”

And so, knowing his captain’s speech, swollen with
pride in his own prowess, Dag Daughtry would con-
tinue his ship-work with extra vigour and punish a sev-
enth quart for the day in advertisement of his remark-
able constitution. It was a queer sort of fame, as queer
as some men are; and Dag Daughtry found in it his
justification of existence.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 3

Wherefore he devoted his energy and the soul of him
to the maintenance of his reputation as a six-quart man.
That was why he made, in odd moments of off-duty,
turtle-shell combs and hair ornaments for profit, and
was pettily crooked in such a matter as stealing another
man’s dog. Somebody had to pay for the six quarts,
which, multiplied by thirty, amounted to a tidy.sum in
the course of the month; and, since that man was Dag
Daughtry, he found it necessary to pass Michael in-
board on the Makambo through a starboard port-hole.

On the beach, that night at Tulagi, vainly wondering
what had become of the whaleboat, Michael had met
the squat, thick, hair-grizzled ship’s steward. ‘The
friendship between them was established almost in-
stantly, for Michael, from a merry puppy, had matured
into a merry dog. Far beyond Jerry, was he a sociable
good fellow, and this, despite the fact that he had
known very few white men. First, there had been
Mister Haggin, Derby and Bob, of Meringe; next,
Captain Kellar and Captain Kellar’s mate of the Eu-
génie; and, finally, Harley Kennan and the officers of
the Ariel. Without exception, he had found them all
different, and delightfully different, from the hordes of
blacks he had been taught to despise and to lord it over.

And Dag Daughtry had proved no exception from
his first greeting of, ‘‘ Hello, you white man’s dog, what
’r’ you doin’ here in nigger country?” Michael had
responded coyly with an assumption of dignified aloof-
ness that was given the lie by the eager tilt of his ears
and the good-humour that shone in his eyes. Nothing
of this was missed by Dag Daughtry, who knew a dog
when he saw one, as he studied Michael in the light of
the lanterns held by black boys where the whaleboats
were landing cargo.
4 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Two estimates the steward quickly made of Michael:
he was a likable dog, genial-natured on the face of it,
and he was a valuable dog. Because of these estimates
Dag Daughtry glanced about him quickly. No one
was observing. For the moment, only blacks stood
about, and their eyes were turned seaward where the
sound of oars out of the darkness warned them to stand
ready to receive the next cargo-laden boat. Off to the
right, under another lantern, he could make out the
Resident Commissioner’s clerk and the Makambo’s
supercargo heatedly discussing some error in the bill of
lading.

The steward flung another quick glance over Michael
and made up his mind. He turned away casually and
strolled along the beach out of the circle of lantern
light. A hundred yards away he sat down in the sand
and waited.

“Worth twenty pounds if a penny,” he muttered to
himself. ‘If I couldn’t get ten pounds for him, just
like that, with a thank-you-ma’am, I’m a sucker that
don’t know a terrier from a greyhound— _ Sure, ten
pounds, in any pub on Sydney beach.”

And ten pounds, metamorphosed into quart bottles
of beer, reared an immense and radiant vision, very like
a brewery, inside his head.

A scurry of feet in the sand, and low sniffings, stif-
fened him to alertness. It wasas he had hoped. The
ee had liked him from the start, and had followed

im.

For Dag Daughtry had a way with him, as Michael
was quickly to learn, when the man’s hand reached
out and clutched him, half by the jowl, half by the slack
of the neck under the ear. There was no threat in that
reach, nothing tentative nor timorous. It was hearty,
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 5

all-confident, and it produced confidence in Michael. It
was roughness without hurt, assertion without threat,
surety without seduction. To him it was the most
natural thing in the world thus to be familiarly seized
and shaken about by a total stranger, while a jovial
voice muttered: ‘‘ That’s right, dog. Stick around,
stick around, and you'll wear diamonds, maybe.”

Certainly, Michael had never met a man so immedi-
ately likable. Dag Daughtry knew, instinctively to be
sure, how to get on with dogs. By nature there was no
cruelty in him. He never exceeded in peremptoriness,
nor in petting. He did not overbid for Michael’s
friendliness. He did bid, but in a manner that con-
veyed no sense of bidding. Scarcely had he given
Michael that introductory jowl-shake, when he released
him and apparently forgot all about him.

He proceeded to light his pipe, using several matches
as if the wind blew them out. But while they burned
close up to his fingers, and while he made a simulation
of prodigious puffing, his keen little blue eyes, under
shaggy, grizzled brows, intently studied Michael. And
Michael, ears cocked and eyes intent, gazed at this
stranger who seemed never to have been a stranger
at all.

If anything, it was disappointment Michael experi-
enced, in that this delightful, two-legged god took no
further notice of him. He even challenged him to
closer acquaintance with an invitation to play, with an
abrupt movement lifting his paws from the ground and
striking them down, stretched out well before, his body
bent down from the rump in such a curve that almost
his chest touched the sand, his stump of a tail waving
signals of good nature while he uttered a sharp, inviting
bark. And the man was uninterested, pulling stolidly
6 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

away at his pipe in the darkness following upon the third
watch.

Never was there a more consummate love-making,
with all the base intent of betrayal, than this cavalier
seduction of Michael by the elderly, six-quart ship’s
steward. When Michael, not entirely unwitting of the
snub of the man’s lack of interest, stirred restlessly with
a threat to depart, he had flung at him gruflly:

“* Stick around, dog, stick around.”

Dag Daughtry chuckled to himself, as Michael, ad-
vancing, sniffed his trousers’ legs long and earnestly.
And the man took advantage of his nearness to study
him some more, lighting his pipe and running over the
dog’s excellent lines.

“* Some dog, some points,” he said aloud approvingly.
“Say, dog, you could pull down ribbons like a candy-
kid in any bench show anywheres. Only thing against
you is that ear, and I could almost iron it out myself.
A vet could do it.”

Carelessly he dropped a hand to Michael’s ear, and,
with tips of fingers instinct with sensuous sympathy, be-
gan to manipulate the base of the ear where its roots
bedded in the tightness of skin-stretch over the skull.
And Michael liked it. Never had a man’s hand been
so intimate with his ear without hurting it. But these
fingers were provocative only of physical pleasure so
keen that he twisted and writhed his whole body in
acknowledgment.

Next came a long steady upward pull of the ear, the
ear slipping slowly through the fingers to the very tip
of it while it tingled exquisitely down to its roots. Now
to one ear, now to the other, this happened, and all the
while the man uttered low words that Michael did not
understand but which he accepted as addressed to him.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 7

‘‘ Head all right, good ’n’ flat,” Dag Daughtry mur-
mured, first sliding his fingers over it, and then lighting
a match. “ An’ no wrinkles, ’n’ some jaw, good ’n’
punishing, an’ not a shade too full in the cheek or too
empty.”

He ran his fingers inside Michael’s mouth and noted
the strength and evenness of the teeth, measured the
breadth of shoulders and depth of chest, and picked up
a foot. In the light of another match he examined all
four feet.

‘* Black, all black, every nail of them,” said Daugh-
try, ‘an’ as clean feet as ever a dog walked on,
straight-out toes with the proper arch ’n’ small ’n’ not
too small. I bet your daddy and your mother cantered
away with the ribbons in their day.”

Michael was for growing restless at such searching
examination, but Daughtry, in the midst of feeling out
the lines and build of the thighs and hocks, paused and
took Michael’s tail in his magic fingers, exploring the
muscles among which it rooted, pressing and prodding
the adjacent spinal column from which it sprang, and
twisting it about in a most daringly intimate way. And
Michael was in an ecstasy, bracing his hindquarters to
one side or the other against the caressing fingers.
With open hands laid along his sides and partly under
him, the man suddenly lifted him from the ground.
But before he could feel alarm he was back on the
ground again.

“‘ Twenty-six or -seven— you're over twenty-five
right now, I’ll bet you on it, shillings to ha’pennies, and
you'll make thirty when you get your full weight,” Dag
Daughtry told him. ‘‘ But what of it? Lots of the
judges fancy the thirty-mark. An’ you could always
train off a few ounces. You're all dog ’n’ all correct
8 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

conformation. You've got the racing build and the
fighting weight, an’ there ain’t no feathers on your legs.

“No, sir, Mr. Dog, your weight’s to the good, and
that ear can be ironed out by any respectable dog-doc-
tor. I bet there’s a hundred men in Sydney right now
that would fork over twenty quid for the right of call-
ing you his.”

And then, just that Michael should not make the mis-
take of thinking he was being much made over, Daugh-
try leaned back, relighted his pipe, and apparently for-
got his existence. Instead of bidding for good will, he
was bent on making Michael do the bidding.

And Michael did, bumping his flanks against Daugh-
try’s knee; nudging his hand against Daughtry’s hand,
in solicitation for more of the blissful ear-rubbing and
tail-twisting. Daughtry caught him by the jowl instead
and slowly moved his head back and forth as he ad-
dressed him:

“What man’s dog are you? Maybe you're a nig-
ger’s dog, an’ that ain’t right. Maybe some nigger’s
stole you, an’ that’d be awful. Think of the cruel fates
that sometimes happens to dogs. It’s a damn shame.
No white man’d stand for a nigger ownin’ the likes
of you, an’ here’s one white man that ain’t goin’ to
stand for it. The idea! A nigger ownin’ you an’ not
knowin’ how to train you. Of course a nigger stole
you. If I laid eyes on him right now I’d up and knock
seven bells and the Saint Paul chimes out of’m. Sure
thing I would. Just show’m to me, that’s all, an’ see
what I’d do to him. The idea of you takin’ orders
from a nigger an’ fetchin’ ’n’ carryin’ for him! No,
sir, dog, you ain’t goin’ to do it any more. You're
comin’ along of me, an’ I reckon I won’t have to urge

you. ”
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 9

Dag Daughtry stood up and turned carelessly along
the beach. Michael looked after him but did not fol-
low. He was eager to, but had received no invitation.
At last Daughtry made a low kissing sound with his
lips. So low was it that he scarcely heard it himselt
and almost took it on faith, or on the testimony of his
lips rather than of his ears, that he had made it. No
‘human being could have heard it across the distance to
Michael; but Michael heard.it, and sprang away after
in a great delighted rush.
CHAPTER II

AG DAUGHTRY sstrolled along the beach,
Michael at his heels or running circles of delight
around him at every repetition of that strange low lip-
noise, and paused just outside the circle of lantern light
where dusky forms laboured with landing cargo from
the whaleboats and where the Commissioner’s clerk and
the Makambo’s supercargo still wrangled over the bill
of lading. When Michael would have gone forward,
the man withstrained him with the same inarticulate,
almost inaudible, kiss.

For Daughtry did not care to be seen on such dog-

stealing enterprise and was planning how to get on
board the steamer unobserved. He edged around out-
side the lantern shine and went on along the beach to
the native village. As he had foreseen, all the able-
bodied men were down at the boat-landing working
cargo. ‘The grass houses seemed lifeless, but at last,
from one of them, came a challenge in the querulous,
high-pitched tones of age:

“What name?”

“Me walk about plenty too much,” he replied in the
beche de mer English of the West South Pacific. ‘ Me
belong along steamer. Suppose’m you take’m me
along canoe, washee-washee, me give’m you fella boy
two stick tobacco.”

“‘ Suppose’m you give’m me ten stick, all right along
me,” came the reply.

“Me give’m five stick,” the six-quart steward bar-
Io
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 11

gained. ‘‘Suppose’m you no like’m five stick then you
fella boy go to hell close up.”

There was a silence.

“You like’m five stick?” Daughtry insisted of the
dark interior.

“Me like’m,” the darkness answered, and through
the darkness the body that owned the voice approached
with such strange sounds that the steward lighted a
match to see.

A blear-eyed ancient stood before him, balancing on a
single crutch. His eyes were half-filmed over by a
growth of morbid membrane, and what was not yet
covered shone red and irritated. His hair was mangy,
standing out in isolated patches of wispy grey. His
skin was scarred and wrinkled and mottled, and in
colour was a purplish blue surfaced with a grey coating
that might have been painted there had it not indubit-
ably grown there and been part and parcel of him.

A blighted leper — was Daughtry’s thought as his
quick eyes leapt from hands to foot in quest of missing
toe- and finger-joints. But in those items the ancient
was intact, although one leg ceased midway between
knee and thigh.

‘“*My word! What place stop’m that fella leg?”
quoth Dag Daughtry, pointing to the space which the
member would have occupied had it not been absent.

“Big fella shark-fish, that fella leg stop’m along
him,” the ancient grinned, exposing a horrible aperture
of toothlessness for a mouth.

“Me old fella boy too much,” the one legged Me-
thuselah quavered. ‘‘ Long time too much no smoke’m
tobacco. Suppose’m you big fella white marster give’m
me one fella stick, close up me washee-washee you that
fella steamer.”
12 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

“‘ Suppose’m me no give?” the steward impatiently
temporised. .

For reply, the old man half-turned, and, on his
crutch, swinging his stump of leg in the air, began
sidling hippity-hop into the grass hut.

“* All right,” Daughtry cried hastily. ‘‘ Me give’m
you smoke’m quick fella.”

He dipped into a side coat-pocket for the mintage of
the Solomons and stripped off a stick from the handful
of pressed sticks. The old man was transfigured as he
reached avidly for the stick and received it. He uttered
little crooning noises, alternating with sharp cries akin
to pain, half-ecstatic, half-petulant, as he drew a black
clay pipe from a hole in his ear-lobe, and into the bowl
of it, with trembling fingers, untwisted and crumbled
the cheap leaf of spoiled Virginia crop.

Pressing down the content of the full bowl with his
thumb, he suddenly plumped upon the ground, the
crutch beside him, the one limb under him so that he had
the seeming of a legless torso. From a small bag of
twisted cocoanut hanging from his neck upon his
withered and sunken chest, he drew out flint and steel
and tinder, and, even while the impatient steward was
proffering him a box of matches, struck a spark, caught
it in the tinder, blew it into strength and quantity, and
lighted his pipe from it.

With the first full puff of the smoke he gave over his
moans and yelps, the agitation began to fade out of
him, and Daughtry, appreciatively watching, saw the
trembling go out of his hands, the pendulous lip-quiver-
ing cease, the saliva stop flowing from the corners of
his mouth and placidity come into the fiery remnants of
his eyes.

What the old man visioned in the silence that fell,
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 13

Daughtry did not try to guess. He was too occupied
with his own vision, and vividly burned before him the
sordid barrenness of a poor-house ward, where an
ancient, very like what he himself would become,
maundered and gibbered and drooled for a crumb of
tobacco for his old clay pipe, and where, of all horrors,
no sip of beer ever obtained, much less six quarts of it.

And Michael, by the dim glows of the pipe surveying
the scene of the two old men, one squatted in the dark,
the other standing, knew naught of the tragedy of age,
and was only aware, and overwhelmingly aware, of the
immense likableness of this two-legged white god, who,
with fingers of magic, through ear-roots and tail-roots
and spinal column, had won to the heart of him.

The clay pipe smoked utterly out, the old black, by
aid of the crutch, with amazing celerity raised himself
upstanding on his one leg and hobbled, with his hippity-
hop, to the beach. Daughtry was compelled to lend
his strength to the hauling down from the sand into the
water of the tiny canoe. It was a dugout, as ancient
and dilapidated as its owner, and, in order to get into
it without capsizing, Daughtry wet one leg to the ankle
and the other leg to the knee. “The old man contorted
himself aboard, rolling his body across the gunwale so
quickly, that, even while it started to capsize, his weight
was across the danger point and counterbalancing the
canoe to its proper equilibrium.

Michael remained on the beach, waiting. invitation,
his mind not quite made up, but so nearly so that all
that was required was that lip-noise. Dag Daughtry
made the lip-noise so low that the old man did not hear,
and Michael, springing clear from sand to canoe, was
on board without wetting his feet. Using Daughtry’s
shoulder for a stepping place, he passed over him and
14 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

down into the bottom of the canoe. Daughtry kissed
with his lips again, and Michael turned around so as to
face him, sat down, and rested his head on the steward’s
knees.

“T reckon I can take my affydavy on a stack of bibles
that the dog just up an’ followed me,” he grinned in
Michael’s ear.

‘* Washee-washee quick fella,” he commanded.

The ancient obediently dipped his paddle and started
pottering an erratic course in the general direction of
the cluster of lights that marked the Makambo. But
he was too feeble, panting and wheezing continually
from the exertion and pausing to rest off strokes between
strokes. The steward impatiently took the paddle
away from him and bent to the work.

Half way to the steamer the ancient ceased wheez-
ing and spoke, nodding his head at Michael.

“That fella dog he belong big white marster along
schooner. . . . You give’m me ten stick tobacco,” he
added after due pause to let the information sink in.

“T give’m you bang alongside head,” Daughtry as-
sured him cheerfully. ‘* White marster along schooner
plenty friend along me too much. Just now he stop’m
along Makambo. Me take’m dog along him along
Makambo.”

There was no further conversation from the ancient,
and though he lived long years after, he never men-
tioned the midnight passenger in the canoe who carried
Michael away with him. When he saw and heard the
confusion and uproar on the beach later that night when
Captain Kellar turned Tulagi upside down in his search
for Michael, the old one-legged one remained dis-
creetly silent. Who was he to seek trouble with the
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 15

strange ones, the white masters who came and went and
roved and ruled?

In this the ancient was in nowise unlike the rest of his
dark-skinned Melanesian race. The whites were pos-
sessed of unguessed and unthinkable ways and purposes.
They constituted another world and were as a play of
superior beings on an exalted stage where was no
reality such as black men might know as reality, where,
like the phantoms of a dream, the white men moved
and were as shadows cast upon the vast and mysterious
curtain of the Cosmos.

The gangplank being on the port side, Dag*Daughtry
paddled around to the starboard and brought the canoe
to a stop under a certain open port.

“‘ Kwaque! ”’ he called softly, once, and twice.

At the second call the light of the port was obscured
apparently by a head that piped down in a thin squeak:

‘Me stop’m, marster.”

“ One fella dog stop’m along you,” the steward whis-
pered up. ‘‘ Keep’m door shut. You wait along me.
Stand by! Now!”

With a quick catch and lift, he passed Michael up
and into unseen hands outstretched from the iron wall
of the ship, and paddled ahead to an open cargo port.
Dipping into his tobacco pocket, he thrust a loose hand-
ful of sticks into the ancient’s hand and shoved the canoe
adrift with no thought of how its helpless occupant
would ever reach shore.

The old man did not touch the paddle, and he was
unregardful of the lofty-sided steamer as the canoe
slipped down the length of it into the darkness astern.
He was too occupied in counting the wealth of tobacco
showered upon him. No easy task, his counting. Five
16 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

was the limit of his numerals. When he had counted
five, he began over again and counted a second five.
Three fives he found in all and two sticks over; and
thus, at the end of it, he possessed as definite a knowl-
edge of the number of sticks as would be possessed by
the average white man by means of the single number
seventeen.

More it was, far more, than his avarice had de-
manded. Yet he was unsurprised. Nothing white
men did could surprise. Had it been two sticks instead
of seventeen, he would have been equally unsurprised.
Since all acts of white men were surprises, the only sur-
prise of action they could achieve for a black man would
be the doing of an unsurprising thing.

Paddling, wheezing, resting, oblivious of the shadow-
world of the white men, knowing only the reality of
Tulagi Mountain cutting its crest-line blackly across the
dim radiance of the star-sprinkled sky, the reality of the
sea and of the canoe he so feebly urged across it, and
the reality of his fading strength and of the death into
which he would surely end, the ancient black man slowly
made his shoreward way.
CHAPTER III

N the meanwhile, Michael. Lifted through the air,
exchanged into invisible hands that drew him
through a narrow diameter of brass into a lighted room,
Michael looked about him in expectancy of Jerry. But
Jerry, at that moment, lay cuddled beside Villa Ken-
nan’s sleeping cot on the slant deck of the Ariel, as that
trim craft, the Shortlands astern and New Guinea dead
ahead, heeled her scuppers a-whisper and garrulous to
the sea-water alongside as she logged her eleven knots
under the press of the freshening trades. Instead of
Jerry, from whom he had last parted on board a boat,
Michael saw Kwaque.

Kwaque? Well, Kwaque was Kwaque, an individ-
ual, more unlike all other men.than most men are unlike
one another. No queerer estray ever drifted along the
stream of life. Seventeen years old he was, as men
measure time; but a century was measured in his lean-
lined face, wrinkled forehead, the hollowed temples,
and deep-sunk eyes. From his thin legs, fragile-
looking as windstraws, the bones of which were
sheathed in withered skin with apparently no muscle
padding in between — from such frail stems sprouted
the torso of a fat man. The huge and protuberant
stomach was amply supported by wide and massive hips,
and the shoulders were broad as those of a Hercules.
But, beheld sidewise, there was no depth to those shoul-
ders and the top of the chest. Almost, at that part of
his anatomy, he seemed builded in two dimensions.

17
18 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Thin his arms were as his legs, and, as Michael first
beheld him, he had all the seeming of a big-bellied black
spider.

He proceeded to dress, a matter of moments, slipping
into duck trousers and blouse, dirty and frayed from
long usage. Two fingers of his left hand were doubled
into a permanent bend, and, to an expert, would have
advertised that he was a leper. Although he belonged
to Dag Daughtry just as much as if the steward pos-
sessed a chattel bill of sale of him, his owner did not
know that this anesthetic twist of ravaged nerves
tokened the dread disease.

The manner of the ownership was simple. At King
William Island, in the Admiralties, Kwaque had made,
in the parlance of the South Pacific, a pier-head jump.
So to speak, leprosy and all, he had jumped into Dag
Daughtry’s arms. Strolling along the native runways
in the fringe of jungle just beyond the beach, as was his
custom to see whatever he might pick up, the steward
had picked up Kwaque. And he had picked him up in
extremity.

Pursued by two very active young men armed with
fire-hardened spears, tottering along with incredible
swiftness on his two spindle legs, Kwaque had fallen
exhausted at Daughtry’s feet and looked up at him with
the beseeching eyes of a deer fleeing from the hounds.
Daughtry had inquired into the matter, and the inquiry
was violent; for he had a wholesome fear of germs and
bacilli, and when the two active young men tried to run
him through with their filth-corroded spears, he caught
the spear of one young man under his arm and put the
other young man to sleep with a left hook to the jaw.
A moment later the young man whose spear he held
had joined the other in slumber.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 19

The orderly steward was not satisfied with the mere
spears. While the rescued Kwaque continued to moan
and slubber thankfulness at his feet, he proceeded to
strip them that were naked. Nothing they wore in the
way of clothing, but from around each of their necks he
removed a necklace of porpoise teeth that was worth
a gold sovereign in mere exchange value. From the
kinky locks of one of the naked young men he drew a
hand-carved fine-toothed comb, the lofty back of which
was inlaid with mother-of-pearl, which he later sold in
Sydney to a curio shop for eight shillings. Nose and
ear ornaments of bone and turtle-shell he also rifled,
as well as a chest-crescent of pearl shell, fourteen inches
across, worth fifteen shillings anywhere. The two
spears ultimately fetched him five shillings each from
the tourists at Port Moresby. Not lightly may a ship
steward undertake to maintain a six-quart reputation.

When he turned to depart from the active young
men, who, back to consciousness, were observing him
with bright, quick, wild-animal eyes, Kwaque followed
so close at his heels as to step upon them and make him
stumble. Whereupon he loaded Kwaque with his trove
and put him in front to lead along the runway. to the
beach. And for the rest of the way to the steamer,
Dag Daughtry grinned and chuckled at sight of his
plunder and at sight of Kwaque who fantastically titu-
bated and ambled along, barrel-like, on his pipe-stems.

On board the steamer, which happened to be the
Cockspur, Daughtry persuaded the captain to enter
Kwaque on the ship’s articles as steward’s helper with a
rating of ten shillings a month. Also, he learned
Kwaque’s story.

It was all on account of apig. The two active young
men were brothers who lived in the next village to his,
20 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

and the pig had been theirs — so Kwaque narrated in
atrocious beche de mer English. He, Kwaque, had
never seen the pig. He had never known of its exist-
ence until after it was dead. ‘The two young men had
loved the pig. But what of that? It did not concern
Kwaque, who was as unaware of their love for the pig
as he was unaware of the pig itself.

The first he knew, he averred, was the gossip of the
village that the pig was dead and that somebody would
have to die for it. That was all right, he said, in reply
to a query from the steward. It was the custom.
Whenever a loved pig died its owners were in custom
bound to go out and kill somebody, anybody. Of
course, it was better if they killed the one whose magic
had made the pig sick. But, failing that one, any one
would do. Hence Kwaque was selected for the blood
atonement.

Dag Daughtry drank a seventh quart as he listened,
so carried away was he by the sombre sense of romance
of this dark jungle event wherein men killed even
strangers because a pig was dead.

Scouts out on the runways, Kwaque continued,
brought word of the coming of the two bereaved pig-
owners, and the village had fled into the jungle and
climbed trees — all except Kwaque, who was unable to
climb trees.

‘““My word,” Kwaque concluded, ‘me no make’m
that fella pig sick.”

“My word,” quoth Dag Daughtry, “ you devil-devil
along that fella pig too much. You look’m like hell.
You make’m any fella thing sick look along you. You
make’m me sick too much.”

It became quite a custom for the steward, as he
finished his sixth bottle before turning in, to call upon
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 21

Kwaque for his story. It carried him back to his boy-
hood when he had been excited by tales of wild canni-
bals in far lands and dreamed some day to see them for
himself. And here he was, he would chuckle to him-
self, with a real true cannibal for a slave.

A slave Kwaque was, as much as if Daughtry had
bought him on the auction block. Whenever the stew-
ard transferred from ship to ship of the Burns Philp
fleet, he always stipulated that Kwaque should accom-
pany him and be duly rated at ten shillings. Kwaque
had no say in the matter. Even had he desired to
escape in Australian ports, there was no need for
Daughtry to watch him. Australia, with her “all
white” policy, attended to that. No dark-skinned
human, whether Malay, Japanese, or Polynesian, could
land on her shore without putting into the government’s
hand a cash security of one hundred pounds.

Nor at the other islands visited by the Makambo
had Kwaque any desire to cut and run for it. King
William Island, which was the only land he had ever
trod, was his yard-stick by which he measured all other
islands. And since King William Island was canni-
balistic, he could only conclude that the other islands
were given to similar dietary practice.

As for King William Island, the Makambo, on the
former run of the Cockspur, stopped there every ten
weeks; but the direst threat Daughtry ever held over
him was the putting ashore of him at the place where
the two active young men still mourned their pig. In
fact, it was their regular programme, each trip, to pad-
dle out and around the Makambo and make ferocious
grimaces up at Kwaque who grimaced back at them
from over the rail. Daughtry even encouraged this
exchange of facial amenities for the purpose of deter-
22 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

ring him from ever hoping to win ashore to the village
of his birth.

For that matter, Kwaque had little desire to leave
his master, who, after all, was kindly and just, and
never lifted a hand to him. Having survived seasick-
ness at the first, and never setting foot upon the land
so that he never again knew seasickness, Kwaque was
certain he lived in an earthly paradise. He never had
to regret his inability to climb trees, because danger
never threatened him. He had food regularly, and all
he wanted, and it was such food! No one in his vil-
lage could have dreamed of any delicacy of the many
delicacies which he consumed all the time. Because of
these matters he even pulled through a light attack of
homesickness, and was as contented a human as ever
sailed the seas.

And Kwaque it was who pulled Michael through the
port-hole into Dag Daughtry’s stateroom and waited
for that worthy to arrive by the roundabout way of the
door. After a quick look around the room and a sniff
of the bunk and under the bunk which informed him
that Jerry was not present, Michael turned his attention
to Kwaque.

Kwaque tried to be friendly. He uttered a clucking
noise in advertisement of his friendliness, and Michael
snarled at this black who had dared to lay hands upon
him — a contamination, according to Michael’s train-
ing — and who now dared to address him who associ-
ated only with white gods.

Kwaque passed off the rebuff with a silly gibbering
laugh and started to step nearer the door to be in readi-
ness to open it at his master’s coming. But at first lift
of his leg, Michael flew at it. Kwaque immediately put
it down, and Michael subsided, though he kept watchful
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 23

guard. What did he know of this strange black, save
that he was a black and that, in the absence of a white
master, all blacks required watching? Kwaque tried
slowly sliding his foot along the floor, but Michael
knew the trick and with bristle and growl put a stop to
it.

It was upon this tableau that Daughtry entered, and,
while he admired Michael under the bright electric light,
he realised the situation.

““ Kwaque, you make’m walk about leg belong you,”
he commanded, in order to make sure.

Kwaque’s glance of apprehension at Michael was
convincing enough, but the steward insisted. Kwaque
gingerly obeyed, but scarcely had his foot moved an
inch when Michael was upon him. ‘The foot and leg
petrified, while Michael stiff-leggedly drew a half-circle
of intimidation about him.

“Got you nailed to the floor, eh?” Daughtry
chuckled. “Some nigger-chaser, my word, any
amount.”

‘“‘ Hey, you, Kwaque, go fetch’m two fella bottle of
beer stop’m along icey-chestis,” he commanded in his
most peremptory manner.

Kwaque looked beseechingly but did not stir. Nor
did he stir at a harsher repetition of the order.

“ My word!” the steward bullied. ‘* Suppose’m you
no fetch’m beer close up, I knock’m eight bells ’n’ a dog-
watch onta you. Suppose’m you no fetch’m close up,
me make’m you go ashore ’n’ walk about along King
William Island.”

“No can,” Kwaque murmured timidly. “* Eye be-
long dog look along me too much. Me no like’m dog
kai-kai along me.”

“ You fright along dog?” his master demanded.
24 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

“My word, me fright along dog any amount.”

Dag Daughtry was delighted. Also, he was thirsty
from his trip ashore and did not prolong the situation.

“Hey, you, dog,” he addressed Michael. ‘This
fella boy he all right. Savvee? He all right.”

Michael bobbed his tail and flattened his ears in
token that he was trying to understand. When the
steward patted the black on the shoulder, Michael ad-
vanced and sniffed both the legs he had kept nailed to
the floor.

“Walk about,’ Daughtry commanded. ‘ Walk
about slow fella,” he cautioned, though there was little
need.

Michael bristled, but permitted the first timid step.
At the second he glanced up at Daughtry to make cer-
tain.

“ That’s right,” he was reassured. ‘‘ That fella boy
belong me. He all right, you bet.”

Michael smiled with his eyes that he understood, and
turned casually aside to investigate an open box on the
floor which contained plates of turtle shell, hack-saws,
and emory paper.

‘And now,” Dag Daughtry muttered weightily
aloud, as, bottle in hand, he leaned back in his arm
chair while Kwaque knelt at his feet to unlace his shoes,
‘now to consider a name for you, mister dog, that will
be just to your breeding and fair to my powers of in-
vention.”
CHAPTER IV

RISH terriers, when they have gained maturity, are
notable, not alone for their courage, fidelity, and
capacity for love, but for their moclucadelne and
power of self-control and restraint. They are less
easily excited off their balance; they can recognise and
obey their master’s voice in the scuffle and rage of bat-
tle; and they never fly into nervous hysterias such as
are common say with fox terriers.

Michael possessed no trace of hysteria, though he
was more temperamentally excitable and explosive than
his blood-brother Jerry, while his father and mother
were a sedate old couple indeed compared with him.
Far more than mature Jerry, was mature Michael
playful and rowdyish. His ebullient spirits were al-
ways on tap to spill over on the slightest provocation,
and, as he was afterwards to demonstrate, he could
weary a puppy with play. In short, Michael was a
merry soul.

“Soul” is used advisedly. Whatever the human
soul may be — informing spirit, identity, personality,
consciousness — that intangible thing Michael certainly
possessed. His soul, differing only in degree, partook
of the same attributes as the human soul. He knew
love, sorrow, joy, wrath, pride, self-consciousness,
humour. Three cardinal attributes of the human soul
are memory, will, and understanding ;.and memory, will,
and understanding were Michael’s.

Just like a human, with his five senses he contacted

25
26 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

with the world exterior to him. Just like a human, the
results to him of these contacts were sensations. Just
like a human, these sensations on occasion culminated
in emotions. Still further, like a human, he could and
did perceive, and such perceptions did flower in his
brain as concepts — oh, certainly not so wide and deep
and recondite as those of humans, but concepts never-
theless.

Perhaps, to let the human down a trifle from such
disgraceful identity of the highest life-attributes, it
would be well to admit that Michael’s sensations were
not quite so poignant, say in the matter of a needle-
thrust through his foot as compared with a needle-
thrust through the palm of a hand. Also, it is ad-
mitted, when consciousness suffused his brain with a
thought, that the thought was dimmer, vaguer than a
similar thought in a human brain. Furthermore, it is
admitted that never, never, in a million life-times, could
Michael have demonstrated a proposition in Euclid
or solved a quadratic equation. Yet he was capable of
knowing beyond all peradventure of a doubt that three
bones are more than two bones, and that ten dogs
compose a more redoubtable host than do two dogs.

One admission, however, will not be made, namely,
that Michael could not love as devotedly, as whole-
heartedly, unselfishly, madly, self-sacrificingly as a
human. He did so love—not because he was
Michael, but because he was a dog.

Michael had loved Captain Kellar more than he
loved his own life. No more than Jerry for Skipper,
would he have hesitated to risk his life for Captain
Kellar. And he was destined, as time went by and
the conviction that Captain Kellar had passed into the
inevitable nothingness along with Meringe and the
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 27

Solomons, to love just as absolutely this six-quart
steward with the understanding ways and the fascinat-
ing lip-caress. Kwaque, no; for Kwaque was black.
Kwaque he merely accepted, as an appurtenance, as a
part of the human landscape, as a chattel of Dag
Daughtry.

But he did not know this new god as Dag Daughtry.
Kwaque called him “ marster”; but Michael heard
other white men so addressed by the blacks. Many
blacks had he heard call Captain Kellar ‘‘ marster.”’
It was Captain Duncan who called the steward ‘‘ Stew-
ard.” Michael came to hear him, and his officers, and
all the passengers, so call him; and thus, to Michael,
his god’s name was Steward, and forever after he was
to know him and think of him as Steward.

There was the question of his own name. The next
evening after he came on board, Dag Daughtry talked
it over with him. Michael sat on his haunches, the
length of his lower jaw resting on Daughtry’s knee,
the while his eyes dilated, contracted and glowed, his
ears ever pricking and repricking to listen, his stump
tail thumping ecstatically on the floor.

“Tt’s this way, son,” the steward told him. ‘“ Your
father and mother were Irish. Now don’t be denying
it, you rascal —”

This, as Michael, encouraged by the unmistakable
geniality and kindness in the voice, wriggled his whole
body and thumped double knocks of delight with his
tail. Not that he understood a word of it, but that he
did understand the something behind the speech that
informed the string of sounds with all the mysterious
likableness that white gods possessed.

““ Never be ashamed of your ancestry. An’ remem-
ber, God loves the Irish— Kwaque} Go fetch’m
28 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

two bottle beer fella stop’m along icey-chestis !—
Why, the very mug of you, my lad, sticks out Irish all
over it.’ (Michael’s tail beat a tattoo.) ‘‘ Now
don’t be blarneyin’ me. ’Tis well I’m wise to
your insidyous, snugglin’, heart-stealin’ ways. I'll
have ye know my heart’s impervious. "Tis soaked
too long this many a day in beer. I stole you to sell
you, not to be lovin’ you. I could ’ve loved you once;
but that was before me and beer was introduced. I’d
sell you for twenty quid right now, coin down, if the
chance offered. An’ I ain’t goin’ to love you, so you
can put that in your pipe ’n’ smoke it.

‘But as I was about to say when so rudely inter-
rupted by your ’fectionate ways —”

Here he broke off to tilt to his mouth the opened
bottle Kwaque handed him. He sighed, wiped his lips
with the back of his hand, and proceeded.

“Tis a strange thing, son, this silly matter of beer.
Kwaque, the Methusalem-faced ape grinnin’ there, be-
longs to me. But by my faith do I belong to beer,
bottles ’n’ bottles of it ’n’ mountains of bottles of it
enough to sink the ship. Dog, truly I envy you, settin’
there comfortable-like inside your body that’s untainted
of alcohol. I may own you, and the man that gives me
twenty quid will own you, but never will a mountain of
bottles own you. You’re a freer man than I am,
Mister Dog, though I don’t know your name. Which
reminds me —”

He drained the bottle, tossed it to Kwaque, and
made signs for him to open the remaining one.

‘‘ The namin’ of you, son, is not lightly to be consid-
ered. Irish, of course, but what shall it be? Paddy?
Well may you shake your head. There’s no smack of
distinction to it. Who'd mistake you for a hod-car-
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 29

rier? Ballymena might do, but it sounds much like a
lady, my boy. Ay, boy youare. ‘Tis anidea. Boy!
Let’s see. Banshee Boy? Rotten. Lad of Erin?”

He nodded approbation and reached for the second
bottle. He drank and meditated, and drank again.

‘ T’ve got you,” he announced solemnly. ‘“ Killeny
is a lovely name, and it’s Killeny Boy for you. How’s
that strike your honourableness ? — high-soundin’, dig-
nified as a earlor ... ora retired brewer. Many’s
the one of that gentry I’ve helped to retire in my day.”

He finished his bottle, caught Michael suddenly by
both jowls, and, leaning forward, rubbed noses with
him. As suddenly released, with thumping tail and
dancing eyes, Michael gazed up into the god’s face.
A definite soul, or entity, or spirit-thing glimmered be-
hind his dog’s eyes, already fond with affection for this
hair-grizzled god who talked with him he knew not
what, but whose very talking carried delicious and un-
guessable messages to his heart.

““Hey! Kwaque, you! ”

Kwaque, squatted on the floor, his hams on his heels.
paused from the rough-polishing of a shell comb de-
signed and cut out by his master, and looked up, eager
to receive command and serve.

““ Kwaque, you fella this time now savvee name stop
along this fella dog. He name belong’m him, Killeny
Boy. You make’m name stop’m along inside head
belong you. All the time you speak’m this fella dog,
you speak’m Killeny Boy. Savvee? Suppose’m you
no savvee, I knock’m block off belong you. Killeny
Boy, savvee? Killeny Boy. Killeny Boy.”

As Kwaque removed his shoes and helped ‘him un- ;
dress, Daughtry regarded Michael with sleepy eyes.

“T’ve got you, laddy,”’ he announced, as he stood up
30 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

and swayed toward his bunk. “I’ve got your name,
an’ here’s your number —I got that, too: high-strung
but reasonable. It fits you like the paper on the wall.

‘“ High-strung but reasonable, that’s what you are,
Killeny Boy, high-strung but reasonable,” he con-
tinued to mumble as Kwaque helped to roll him into his
bunk.

Kwaque returned to his polishing. His lips stam-
mered and halted in the making of noiseless whispers,
as, with corrugated brows of puzzlement, he addressed
the steward:

“* Marster, what name stop’m along that fella dog? ”

‘“ Killeny Boy, you kinky-head man-eater, Killeny
Boy, Killeny Boy,” Dag Daughtry murmured drowsily.
“‘ Kwaque, you black blood-drinker, run ’n’ fetch’m one
fella bottle stop’m along icey-chestis.”’

“No stop’m, marster,” the black quavered, with eyes
alert for something to be thrown at him. “Six fella
bottle he finish altogether.”

The steward’s sole reply was a snore.

The black, with the twisted hand of leprosy and with
a barely perceptible infiltration of the same disease
thickening the skin of the forehead between the eyes,
bent over his polishing, and ever his lips moved, repeat-
ing over and over, “‘ Killeny Boy.”
CHAPTER V

OR a number of days Michael saw only Steward

and Kwaque. ‘This was because he was confined

to the Steward’s stateroom. Nobody else knew that

he was on board, and Dag Daughtry, thoroughly aware

that he had stolen a white man’s dog, hoped to keep his

presence secret and smuggle him ashore when the
Makambo docked in Sydney.

Quickly the steward learned Michael’s pre-eminent
teachableness. In the course of his fareful feeding of
him, he gave him an occasional chicken bone. Two
lessons, which would scarcely be called lessons, since
both of them occurred within five minutes and each was
not over half a minute in duration, sufficed to teach
Michael that only on the floor of the room in the corner
nearest the door could he chew chicken bones. There-
after, without prompting, as a matter of course when
handed a bone, he carried it to the corner.

And why not? He had the wit to grasp what
Steward desired of him; he had the heart that made it
a happiness for him to serve. Steward was a god who
was kind, who loved him with voice and lip, who loved
him with touch of hand, rub of nose, or enfolding arm.
As all service flourishes in the soil of love, so with
Michael. Had Steward commended him to forego
the chicken bone after it was in the corner, he would
have served him by foregoing. Which is the way of
the dog, the only animal that will cheerfully and gladly,

31
32 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

with leaping body of joy, leave its food uneaten in
order to accompany or to serve its human master.

Practically all his waking time off duty, Dag Daugh-
try spent with the imprisoned Michael, who, at com-
mand, had quickly learned to refrain from whining and
barking. And during these hours of companionship
Michael learned many things. Daughtry found that
he already understood and obeyed simple things such
as “no,” “yes,” “get up,” and “lie down,” and he
improved on them, teaching him, ‘‘ Go into the bunk
and lie down,” ‘“‘Go under the bunk,” “‘ Bring one
shoe,” “ Bring two shoes.” And almost without any
work at all, he taught him to roll over, to say his
prayers, to play dead, to sit up and smoke a pipe with a
hat on his head, and not merely to stand up on his hind
legs but to walk on them.

Then, too, was the trick of ‘no can and can do.”
Placing a savoury, nose-tantalising bit of meat or cheese
on the edge of the bunk on a level with Michael’s
nose, Daughtry would simply say, “No can.” Nor
would Michael touch the food till he received the wel-
come, “ Can do.” Daughtry, with the “ no can” still
in force, would leave the stateroom, and, though he re-
mained away half an hour or half a dozen hours, on
his return he would find the food untouched and
Michael, perhaps, asleep in the corner at the head of
the bunk which had been allotted him for a bed. Once,
early in this trick, when the steward had left the room
and Michael’s eager nose was within an inch of the pro-
hibited morsel, Kwaque, playfully inclined, reached for
the morsel himself and received a lacerated hand from
the quick flash and clip of Michael’s jaws.

None of the tricks that he was ever eager to do for
Steward, would Michael do for Kwaque, despite the
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 33

fact that Kwaque had no touch of meanness or vicious-
ness in him. The point was that Michael had been
trained, from his first dawn of consciousness, to differ-
entiate between black men and white men. Black men
were always the servants of white men — or such had
been his experience; and always they were objects of
suspicion, ever bent on wreaking mischief and requiring
careful watching. The cardinal duty of a dog was to
serve his white god by keeping a vigilant eye on all
blacks that came about.

Yet Michael permitted Kwaque to serve him in mat-
ters of food, water, and other offices, at first in the ab-
sence of Steward attending to ship’s duties, and, later,
at any time. For he realised, without thinking about
it at all, that whatever Kwaque did for him, whatever
food Kwaque spread for him, really proceeded, not
from Kwaque, but from Kwaque’s master who was also
his master. Yet Kwaque bore no grudge against
Michael, and was himself so interested in his lord’s
welfare and comfort — this lord who had saved his life
that terrible day on King William Island from the two
grief-stricken pig-owners — that he cherished Michael
for his lord’s sake. Seeing the dog growing into his
master’s affection, Kwaque himself developed a genu-
ine affection for Michael — much in the same way that
he worshipped anything of the steward’s, whether the
shoes he polished for him, the clothes he brushed and
cleaned for him, or the six bottles of beer he put into
the ice-chest each day for him.

In truth, there was nothing of the master-quality in
Kwaque, while Michael was a natural aristocrat.
Michael, out of love, would serve Steward, but Michael
lorded it over the kinky-head. Kwaque possessed
overwhelmingly the slave-nature, while in Michael
34 MICHAEL: —BROTHER OF JERRY

there was little more of the slave-nature than was found
in ‘the North American Indians when the vain attempt
was made to turn them into slaves on the plantations
of Cuba. All of which was no personal vice of
Kwaque or virtue of Michael. Michael’s heredity,
rigidly selected for ages by man, was chiefly composed
of fierceness and faithfulness. And fierceness and
faithfulness, together, invariably produce pride. And
pride cannot exist withont honour, nor can honour with-
out poise.

Michael’s crowning achievement, under Daughtry’s
tutelage, in the first days in the stateroom, was to learn
to count up to five. Many hours of work were re-
quired, however, in spite of his unusual high endowment
of intelligence. For he had to learn, first, the spoken
numerals; second, to see with his eyes and in his brain
differentiate between one object and all other groups of
objects up to and including the group of five; and,
third, in his mind, to relate an object, or any group of
objects, with its numerical name as uttered by Steward.

In the training Dag Daughtry used balls of paper
tied about with twine. He would toss the five balls
under the bunk and tell Michael to fetch three, and
neither two, nor four, but three would Michael bring
forth and deliver into his hand. When Daughtry
threw three under the bunk and demanded four,
Michael would deliver the three, search about vainly
for the fourth, then dance pleadingly with bobs of tail
and half-leaps about Steward, and finally leap into the
bed and secure the fourth from under the pillow or
among the blankets.

It was the same with other known objects. Up to
five, whether shoes or shirts or pillowslips, Michael
would fetch the number requested. And between the
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 35

mathematical mind of Michael, who counted to five, and
the mind of the ancient black at Tulagi, who counted
sticks of tobacco in units of five, was a distance shorter
than that between Michael and Dag Daughtry who
could do multiplication and long division. In the same
manner, up the ladder of mathematical ability, a still
greater distance separated Dag Daughtry from Cap-
tain Duncan who by mathematics navigated the
Makambo. Greatest mathematical distance of all,
was that between Captain Duncan’s mind and the mind
of an astronomer who charted the heavens and navi-
gated a thousand million miles away among the stars
and who tossed, a mere morsel of his mathematical
knowledge, the few shreds of information to Captain
Duncan that enabled him to know from day to day the
place of the Makambo on the sea.

In one thing only could Kwaque rule Michael.
Kwaque possessed a Jew’s-harp, and, whenever the
world of the Makambo and the servitude to the stew-
ard grew wearisome, he could transport himself to
King William Island by thrusting the primitive instru-
ment between his jaws and fanning weird rhythms from
it with his hand, and when he thus crossed space and
time, Michael sang — or howled, rather, though his
howl possessed the same soft mellowness as Jerry’s.
Michael did not want to howl, but the chemistry of his
being was such that he reacted to music as compulsively
as elements react on one another in the laboratory.

While he lay perdue in Steward’s stateroom, his
voice was the one thing that was not to be heard, so
Kwaque was forced to seek the solace of his Jew’s-harp
in the sweltering heat of the gratings over the fire-
room. But this did not continue long, for, either ac-
cording to blind chance, or to the lines of fate written
36 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

in the book of life ere ever the foundations of the world
were laid, Michael was scheduled for an adventure
that was profoundly to affect, not alone his own destiny,
but the destinies of Kwaque and Dag Daughtry and
determine the very place of their death and burial.
CHAPTER VI

HE adventure that was so to alter the future oc-
curred when Michael, in no uncertain manner,
announced to all and sundry his presence on the
Makambo. It was due to Kwaque’s carelessness, to
commence with, for Kwaque left the stateroom without
tight-closing the door. As the Makambo rolled on an
easy sea the door swung back and forth, remaining wide
open for intervals and banging shut but not banging
hard enough to latch itself.

Michael crossed the high threshold with the inno-
cent intention of exploring no farther than the immedi-
ate vicinity. But scarcely was he through, when a
heavier roll slammed the door and latched it. And
immediately Michael wanted to get back. Obedience
was strong in him, for it was his heart’s desire to serve
his lord’s will, and from the few days’ confinement he
sensed, or guessed, or divined, without thinking about
it, that it was Steward’s will for him to stay in the state-
room.

For a long time he sat down before the closed door,
regarding it wistfully but being too wise to bark or
speak to such inanimate object. It had been part of
his early puppyhood education to learn that only live
things could be moved by plea or threat, and that while
things not alive did move, as the door had moved, they
never moved of themselves, and were deaf to anything
life might have to say to them. Occasionally he
trotted down the short cross-hall upon which the state-

37
38 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

room opened, and gazed up and down the long passage
that ran fore and aft.

For the better part of an hour he did this, returning
always to the door that would not open. Then he
achieved a definite idea. Since the door would not
open, and since Steward and Kwaque did not return,
he would go in search of them. Once with this concept
of action clear in his brain, without timidities of hesita-
tion and irresolution, he trotted aft down the long hall.
Going around the right angle in which it ended, he en-
countered a narrow flight of steps. Among many
scents, he recognised those of Kwaque and Steward and
knew they had passed that way.

Up the stairs and on the main deck, he began to
meet passengers. Being white gods, he did not resent
their addresses to him, though he did not linger and
went out on the open deck where were more of the
favoured gods reclined in steamer chairs. Still no
Kwaque or Steward. Another flight of narrow, steep
stairs invited, and he emerged upon the boat-deck.
Here, under the wide awnings, were many more of the
gods — many times more than he had that far seen in
his life.

The for’ard end of the boat-deck terminated in the
bridge, which, instead of being raised above it, was part
of it. Trotting around the wheel-house to the shady
lee-side of it, he came upon his fate; for be it known
that Captain Duncan possessed on board, in addition to
two fox terriers, a big Persian cat, and that the cat pos-
sessed a litter of kittens. Her chosen nursery was the
wheel-house, and Captain Duncan had humoured her,
giving her a box for her kittens and threatening the
quartermasters with all manner of dire fates did they
so much as step on one of the kittens.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 39

But Michael knew nothing of this. And the big
Persian knew of his existence before he did of hers.
In fact, the first he knew was when she launched herself
upon him out of the open wheel-house doorway. Even
as he glimpsed this abrupt danger, and before he could
realise: what it was, he leaped sideways and saved him-
self. From his point of view, the assault was unpro-
voked. He was staring at her with bristling hair,
recognising her for what she was, a cat, when she
sprang again, her tail the size of a large man’s arm,
herself all claws and spitting fury and vindictive-
ness.

This was too much for a self-respecting Irish terrier.
His wrath was immediate with her second leap, and he
sprang to the side to avoid her claws and in from the
side to meet her, his jaws clamping together on her
spinal column with a jerk while she was still in mid-air.
The next moment she lay sprawling and struggling on
the deck with a broken back.

But for Michael this was only the beginning. A
shrill yelling, rather than yelping, of more enemies
made him whirl half about, but not quick enough.
Struck in flank by two full-grown fox terriers, he was
slashed and rolled on the deck. ‘The two, by the way,
had long before made their first appearance on the
Makambo as little puppies in Dag Daughtry’s coat
pockets — Daughtry, in his usual fashion, having ap-
propriated them ashore in Sydney and sold them to
Captain Duncan for a guinea apiece.

By this time, scrambling to his feet, Michael was
really angry. In truth, it was raining cats and dogs,
such belligerent shower all unprovoked by him who
had picked no quarrels nor even been aware of his
enemies until they assailed him. Brave the fox terriers
40 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY.

were, despite the hysterical rage they were in, and they
were upon him as he got his legs under him. The
fangs of one clashed with his, cutting the lips of both
of them, and the lighter dog recoiled from the impact.
The other succeeded in taking Michael in flank, fetch-
ing blood and hurt with his teeth. With an instant
curve that was almost spasmodic, of his body, Michael
flung his flank clear, leaving the other’s mouth full of
hair, and at the same moment drove his teeth through
an ear till they met. The fox terrier, with a shrill
yelp of pain, sprang back so impetuously as to ribbon
its ear as Michael’s teeth combed through it.

The first terrier was back upon him, and he was
whirling to meet it, when a new and equally unpro-
voked assault was made upon him. ‘This time it was
Captain Duncan, in a rage at sight of his slain cat.
The instep of his foot caught Michael squarely under
the chest, half knocking the breath out of him and
wholly lifting him into the air so that he fell heavily on
his side. The two terriers were upon him, filling their
mouths with his straight, wiry hair as they sank their
teeth in. Still on his side, as he was beginning to
struggle to his feet, he clipped his jaws together on a
leg of one, who screamed with pain and retreated on
three legs, holding up the fourth, a fore-leg, the bone of
which Michael's teeth had all but crushed.

Twice Michael slashed the other four-footed foe,
and then pursued him in a circle, with Captain Duncan
pursuing him in turn. Shortening the distance by leap-
ing across a chord of the arc of the other’s flight,
Michael closed his jaws on the back and side of the
neck. Such abrupt arrest in midflight by the heavier
dog brought the fox terrier down on deck with a heavy
thump. Simultaneous with this, Captain Duncan’s
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 41

second kick landed, communicating such propulsion to
Michael as to tear his clenched teeth through the flesh
and out of the flesh of the fox terrier.

And Michael turned on the Captain. What if he
were a white god? In his rage at so many assaults of
so many enemies, Michael, who had been peacefully
looking for Kwaque and Steward, did not stop to
reckon. Besides, it was a strange white god upon
whom he had never laid eyes.

At the beginning he had snarled and growled. But
it was a more serious affair to attack a god, and no
sound came from him as he leaped to meet the leg flying
toward him in another kick. As with the cat, he did
not leap straight at it. To the side to avoid, and in
with a curve of body as it passed, was his way. He
had learned the trick with many blacks at Meringe
and on board the Eugénie, so that as often he succeeded
as failed at it. His teeth came together in the slack of
the leg of white duck trousers. The consequent jerk
on Captain Duncan’s leg made that infuriated mariner
lose his balance. Almost he fell forward on his face,
partly recovered himself with a violent effort, stumbled
over Michael who was in for another bite, tottered
wildly around, and sat down on the deck.

How long he might have sat there to recover his
breath is problematical, for he rose as rapidly as his
stoutness would permit, spurred on by Michael’s teeth
already sunk into the fleshy part of his shoulder.
Michael missed his calf as he uprose, but tore the other
leg of the trousers to shreds and received a kick that
lifted him a yard in a half somersault and landed him
on his back on deck.

Up to this time the Captain had been on the fero-
cious offensive, and he was in the act of following up the
42 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

kick when Michael regained his feet and soared up in
the air, not for leg or thigh, but for the throat. Too
high it was for him to reach, but his teeth closed on
the flowing black scarf and tore it to tatters as his
weight drew him back to deck.

It was not this so much that turned Captain Duncan
to the pure defensive and started him retreating back-
ward, as it was the silence of Michael. Ominous as
death it was. There were no snarls nor throat-threats.
With eyes straight-looking and unblinking, he sprang
and sprang again. Neither did hé growl when he at-
tacked nor yelp when he was kicked. Fear of the
blow was not in him. As Tom Haggin had so often
bragged of Biddy and Terrence, they bred true in Jerry
and Michael in the matter of not wincing at a blow.
Always — they were so made — they sprang to meet
the blow and to encounter the creature who delivered
the blow. With a silence that was invested with the
seriousness of death, they were wont to attack and to
continue to attack.

And so Michael. As the Captain retreated kicking,
he attacked, leaping and slashing. ‘What saved Cap-
tain Duncan was a sailor with a deck mop on the end
of a stick. Intervening, he managed to thrust it into
Michael’s mouth and shove him away. This first time
his teeth closed automatically upon it. But, spitting it
out, he declined thereafter to bite it, knowing it for
what it was, an inanimate thing upon which his teeth
could inflict no hurt.

Nor, beyond trying to avoid him, was he interested in
the sailor. It was Captain Duncan, leaning his back
against the rail, breathing heavily, and wiping the
streaming sweat from his face, who was Michael’s meat.
Long as it has taken to tell the battle, beginning with
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 43

the slaying of the Persian cat to the thrusting of the
mop into Michael’s jaws, so swift had been the rush of
events that the passengers, springing from their deck-
chairs and hurrying to the scene, were just arriving
when Michael eluded the mop of the sailor by a success-
ful dodge and plunged in on Captain Duncan, this time
sinking his teeth so savagely into a rotund calf as to
cause its owner to splutter an incoherent curse and howl
of wrathful surprise.

A fortunate kick hurled Michael away and enabled
the sailor to intervene once again with the mop. And
upon the scene came Dag Daughtry, to behold his cap-
tain, frayed and bleeding and breathing apoplectically,
Michael raging in ghastly silence at the end of a mop,
and a large Persian mother-cat writhing with a broken
back.

“ Killeny Boy!” the steward cried imperatively.

Through no matter what indignation and rage that
possessed him, his lord’s voice penetrated conscious-
ness, so that, cooling almost instantly, Michael’s ears
flattened, his bristling hair lay down, and his lips cov-
ered his fangs as he turned his head to look acknowl-
edgment.

“Come here, Killeny.”

Michael obeyed —not crouching cringingly, but
trotting eagerly, gladly, to Steward’s feet.

“Lie down, Boy.”

He turned half around as he flumped himself down
with a sigh of relief, and, with a red flash of tongue,
kissed Steward’s foot.

“Your dog, Steward?” Captain Duncan demanded
in a smothered voice wherein struggled anger and short-
ness of breath.

“Yes, sir. My dog. What’s he been up to, sir?”
44 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

The totality of what Michael had been up to choked
the Captain completely. He could only gesture around
from the dying cat to his torn clothes and bleeding
wounds and the fox terriers licking their injuries and
whimpering at his feet.

“It’s too bad, sir . . .” Daughtry began.

“Too bad, hell!” the captain shut him off.
“ Bo’s’n! Throw that dog overboard.”

“ Throw the dog overboard, sir, yes, sir,’ the boat-
swain repeated, but hesitated.

Dag Daughtry’s face hardened unconsciously with
the stiffening of his will to dogged opposition, which,
in its own slow quiet way, would go to any length to
have its way. But he answered. respectfully enough,
his features, by a shrewd effort, relaxing into a seem-
ing of his customary good nature:

“ He’s a good dog, sir, and an unoffending dog. I
can’t imagine what could a-made ’m break loose this
way. He must a-had cause, sir —”’

““He had,” one of the passengers, a coconut planter
from the Shortlands, interjected.

The steward threw him a grateful glance and con-
tinued.

““He’s a good dog, sir, a most obedient dog, sir —
look at the way he minded me right in the thick of the
scrap an’ come ’n’ lay down. He’s smart as chain-
lightnin’, sir; do anything I tell him. I'll make him
make friends. See... .”

Stepping over to the two hysterical terriers, Daughtry
called Michael to him.

“He all right, savvee? Killeny, he all right,” he
crooned, at the same time resting one hand on a terrier
and the other on Michael.

The terrier whimpered and backed solidly against
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY = 45

Captain Duncan’s legs, but Michael, with a slow bob
of tail and unbelligerent ears, advanced to him, looked
up to Steward to make sure, then sniffed his late an-
tagonist, and even ran out his tongue in a caress to the
side of the other’s ear.

“See, sir, no bad feelings,” Daughtry exulted.
“He plays the game, sir. He’s a proper dog, he’s a
man dog— Here, Killeny! The other one. He all
right. Kiss and make up. That’s the stuff.”

The other fox terrier, the one with the injured fore-
leg, endured Michael’s sniff with no more than hyster-
ical growls deep in the throat; but the flipping out of
Michael’s tongue was too much. The wounded terrier
exploded in a futile snap at Michael’s tongue and nose.

“ He all right, Killeny, he all right, sure,” Steward
warned quickly.

With a bob of his tail in token of understanding,
without a shade of resentment, Michael lifted a paw
and with a playful casual stroke, dab-like, brought its
weight on the other’s neck and rolled him, head-down-
ward, over on the deck. Though he snarled wrathily,
Michael turned away composedly and looked up into
Steward’s face for approval.

A roar of laughter from the passengers greeted the
capsizing of the fox terrier and the good-natured grav-
ity of Michael. But not at this alone did they laugh,
for at the moment of the snap and the turning over,
Captain Duncan’s unstrung nerves had exploded, caus-
ing him‘to jump as he tensed his whole body.

“‘ Why, sir,” the steward went on with growing con-
fidence, ‘I bet I can make him friends with you, too,
by this time to-morrow. .. .”

“ By this time five minutes he'll be overboard,” the
captain answered. ‘‘Bo’s’n! Over with him!”
46 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

The boatswain advanced a tentative step, while mur-
murs of protest arose from the passengers.

“Look at my cat, and look at me,” Captain Duncan
defended his action.

The boatswain made another step, and Dag Daugh-
try glared a threat at him.

‘Go on!” the captain commanded.

“Hold on!” spoke up the Shortlands planter.
‘‘ Give the dog a square deal. I saw the whole thing.
He wasn’t looking for trouble. First the cat jumped
him. She had to jump twice before he turned loose.
She’d have scratched his eyes out. Then the two dogs
jumped him. He hadn’t bothered them. Then you
jumped him. He hadn’t bothered you. And then
came that sailor with the mop. And now you want the
bo’s’n to jump hinr and throw him overboard. Give
him a square deal. Hle’s only been defending himself.
What do you expect any dog that is a dog to do? —
lie down and be walked over by every strange dog and
cat that comes along? Play the game, Skipper. You
gave him some mighty hard kicks. He only defended
himself.”

““He’s some defender,” Captain Duncan grinned,
with a hint of the return of his ordinary geniality, at
the same time tenderly pressing his bleeding shoulder
and looking wofully down at his tattered duck trousers.
‘All right, Steward. If you can make him friends
with me in five minutes, he stays on board. But you'll
have to make it up to me with a new pair of trousers.”

‘And gladly, sir, thank you, sir,” Daughtry cried.
“And I'll 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,
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 47

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, com-
posedly, 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 re-
cently torn.

“Put your hand down on him, sir,
begged.

And Captain Duncan, his own good self once more,
bent and rested a firm, unhesitating hand on Michael’s
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 eyes and ears and
mouth, and kissed with his tongue the hand with which
a short time before he had been at war.

”

Daughtry
CHAPTER VII

OR the rest of the voyage Michael had the run of
Fk the ship. Friendly to all, he reserved his love for
Steward alone, though he was not above many an un-
dignified romp with the fox terriers.

“The most playful-minded dog, without being silly,
I ever saw,” was Dag Daughtry’s verdict to the Short-
lands planter, to whom he had just sold one of his
turtle-shell combs. ‘‘ You see, some dogs never get
over the play-idea, an’ they’re never good for any-
thing else. But not Killeny Boy. He can come down
to seriousness in a second. Ill show you, and [ll
show you he’s 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 him
with well simulated 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 lis-
tened. Again Daughtry made the lip-noise; again the
Shortlands planter did not hear nor guess; and Michael
bounded to his feet and to his lord’s side.

“Some dog, eh?” the steward boasted.

“ But how did he know you wanted him?” the
planter queried. ‘‘ You never called him.”

48
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 49

“ Mental telepathy, the affinity of souls pitched in
the same what-ever-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 I'll
show you he knows his bit of arithmetic.”

And, drawing the paper balls from his pocket, Dag
Daughtry demonstrated to the amazement and satisfac-
tion of the ring of passengers Michael’s 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’ didn’t
notice the waiter’d only brought three, Killeny Boy
there’d raise a row instanter.”

Kwaque was no longer compelled to enjoy his jew’s-
harp on the gratings over the fire-room, now that
Michael’s presence on the Makambo was known, and,
in the stateroom, on stolen occasions, he made experi-
ments of his own with Michael. Once the jew’s-harp
began emitting its barbaric rhythms, Michael was help-
less. 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
black’s 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
50 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

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 Steward’s
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.

“It’s this way, Killeny,” Daughtry began, one eve-
ning, Michael’s head resting on his lord’s knees as he
gazed adoringly up into his lord’s 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
you'd bring ten quid anywheres. ‘Ten quid’s 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 agree-
ment with whatever had been propounded.

“Or say twenty quid, now. That’s a fair offer.
Would I? Eh? Would I? Not on your life.
What d’ ye’ say to fifty quid? That might begin to
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY © 51

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 Hill’d
offer a hundred quid? I’d like to clap eyes on him
once, that’s all, just once. D’ ye’ want to know what
for? All right. I'll 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 he'd never suffer from frigid extremities.”

Michael's love for Steward was so profound as al-
most to be a mad but enduring infatuation. What the
steward’s regard for Michael was coming to be was
best evidenced by his conversation with Captain Dun-
can.

“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 how’d he get there, sir? How'd 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 gang-
way!” Captain Duncan snorted. “As if I didn’t
know your tricks, Steward. There’s nothing marvel-
lous 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, I’ll wager,
had a hand in the helping. But let’s have done with
beating about the bush. Give me the dog, and I'll say
no more about the cat.”

“ Being you believe what you believe, then you’d be
for compoundin’ the felony,” Daughtry retorted, the
habitual obstinate tightening of his brows showing
52 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

which way his will set. ‘‘ Me, sir, I’m only a ship’s
steward, an’ it wouldn’t mean nothin’ at all bein’ ar-
rested for dog-stealin’; but you, sir, a captain of a fine
steamer, how'd it sound for you, sir? No, sir; it'd be
much wiser for me to keep the dog that followed me
aboard.”

‘“‘T'll give ten pounds in the bargain,” the captain
proffered.

“No, it wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t do at all, sir, an’
you a captain,” the steward continued to reiterate, roll-
ing his head sombrely. ‘‘ Besides, I know where’s a
peach of an Angora in Sydney. ‘The owner’s gone to
the country an’ has no further use of it, an’ it'd be a
kindness to the cat, sir, to give it a good regular home
like the Makambo.”
CHAPTER VIII

NOTHER trick Dag Daughtry succeeded in teach-
ing Michael, so enhanced him in Captain Dun-
can’s 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 Short-
lands planter. Not until thoroughly satisfied, did he
make a public performance of it.

‘“‘ Now just suppose you’re policeman, or detective,”’
Daughtry told the first and third officers. ‘ An’ sup-
pose I’m guilty of some horrible crime. An’ suppose
Killeny is the only clue, an’ you’ve got Killeny. When
he recognises his master—-me, of course — you’ve
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
recognises me you arrest me. But if he don’t recog-
nise me you can’t 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.

“What’ll you take for the dog?” Daughtry de-
manded, as they drew near —this the cue he had
trained Michael to know.

And Michael, straining at the rope, went by, with-
out 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.

53
54 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

“He’s a lost dog,” said the first officer.

‘We're trying to find his owner,” supplemented the
third.

“ Some dog that — what'll you take for’m? ” Daugh-
try asked, studying Michael with critical eyes of inter-
est. ‘‘ What kind of a temper’s 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 won’t hurt you,” the delighted
passengers urged.

This time the steward’s 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 wouldn’t 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? Who'd say he ever seen me in his life?”
Daughtry demanded triumphantly. “It’s a trick I
never seen played myself, but I’ve 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. What’ll it be?
Name it an’ he’ll fetch it.”
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY = 55

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 accla-
mation.

“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 apologised. “I ain’t told him
the other game was over. Now just listen an’ watch
‘n’ see if you can catch on to the tip I’m 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
toward his lord’s 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 suf-
fused them.

“Two slipper! Fetch’m quick! ”
56 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

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 steward’s feet.

““The more I know dogs the more amazin’ marvel-
lous they are to me,” Dag Daughtry, after he had com-
passed his fourth bottle, confided in monologue to the
Shortlands planter that night just before bed-time.
“Take Killeny Boy. He don’t do things for me
mechanically, just because he’s learned to do’m.
There’s more to it. He does’m because he likes me.
I can’t give you the hang of it, but I feel it, I know it.

“* Maybe, this is what I’m drivin’ at. Killeny can’t
talk, as you ’n’ me talk, I mean; so he can’t tell me how
he loves me, an’ he’s all love, every last hair of’m.
And, 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 it’s speech. Dog talk that’s
tongue-tied. Don’t I know? Sure as I’ma 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, it’s all in the matter of talkin’, an’
Killeny can’t talk. He’s got thoughts inside that head
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY = 57

of his — you can see ’m shinin’ in his lovely brown eyes
— but he can’t get ’m across to me. Why, I see ’m
tryin’ to tell me sometimes so hard that he almost busts.
There’s a big hole between him an’ me, an’ language is
about the only bridge, and he can’t get over the hole,
though he’s 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. It’s a regular song
without words. And... I can’t explain how...
but just the same, when we've finished our song, I know
we've passed a lot over to each other that don’t need
words for the passin’.

‘“ Why, d’ye know, when I’m playin’ an’ he’s singin’,
it’s a regular duet of what the sky pilots’d call religion
an’ knowin’ God. Sure, when we sing together I’m ab-
sorbin’ religion an’ gettin’ pretty close up to God. An’
it’s 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
we're all the same stuff after all— you, me, Killeny
Boy, mountains, sand, salt water, worms, mosquitos,
suns, an’ shootin’ stars an’ blazin’ comets . . .”

Dag Daughtry left his flight as beyond his own grasp
of speech, and concluded, his half-embarrassment
masked by braggadocio over Michael:

“ Oh, believe me, they don’t make dogs like him every
day inthe week. Sure, I stole’m. He looked good to
me. An’ if I had it over, knowin’ ’m as I do know ’m
now, I’d steal ’m again if I lost a leg doin’ it. That’s
the kind of a dog he is.”
CHAPTER IX

HE morning the Makambo entered Sydney har-
bour, Captain Duncan had another try for
Michael. The port doctor’s launch was coming along-
side, when he nodded up to him Daughtry, who was
passing along the deck:

“ Steward, I'll give you twenty pounds.”

“No, sir, thank you, sir,” was Dag Daughtry’s an-
swer. ‘I couldn’t bear to part with him.”

‘“* Twenty-five pounds, then. I can’t go beyond that.
Besides, there are plenty more Irish terriers in the
world.”

‘““That’s what I’m thinkin’, sir. An’ I'll get one for
you. Right here in Sydney. An’ it won’t cost you a
penny, sir.” |

““ But I want Killeny Boy,” the captain persisted.

** An’ so do I, which is the worst of it, sir. Besides,
I got him first.”

‘‘ Twenty-five sovereigns is a lot of money . . . for
a dog,”’ Captain Duncan said.

“ An’ Killeny Boy’s a lot of dog... for the
money,” the steward retorted. “‘ Why, sir, cuttin’ out
all sentiment, his tricks is worth more’n that. Him not
recognising me when I don’t want ’m to is worth fifty
pounds of itself. An’ there’s his countin’ an’ his singin’,
an’ all the rest of his tricks. Now, no matter how I
got him, he didn’t have them tricks. Them tricks are
mine. I taught him them. He ain’t the dog he was

58
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 59

when he come on board. He’s a whole lot of me now,
an’ sellin’ him would be like sellin’ a piece of myself.”
‘* Thirty pounds,” said the captain with finality.
“No, sir, thankin’: you just the same, sir,” was
Daughtry’s refusal.
And Captain Duncan was forced to turn away in
order to greet the port doctor coming over the side.
Scarcely had the Makambo passed quarantine, and
while on her way up harbour to dock, when a trim man-
of-war launch darted in to her side and a trim lieutenant
mounted the Makambo’s boarding ladder. His mis-
sion was quickly explained. The Albatross, British
cruiser of the second class, of which he was fourth
lieutenant, had called in at Tulagi with despatches from
the High Commissioner of the English South Seas. A
scant twelve hours having intervened between her ar-
rival and the Makambo’s departure, the Commissioner
of the Solomons and Captain Kellar had been of the
opinion that the missing dog had been carried away on
the steamer. Knowing that the Albatross would beat
her to Sydney, the captain of the Albatross had under-
taken to look up the dog. Was the dog, an Irish ter-
rier answering to the name of Michael, on board?
Captain Duncan truthfully admitted that it was,
though he most unveraciously shielded Dag Daughtry
by repeating his yarn of the dog coming on board of
itself. How to return the dog to Captain Kellar? —
was the next question; for the 4/batross was bound on
to New Zealand. Captain Duncan settled the matter.
“The Makambo will .be back in Tulagi in eight
weeks,” he told the lieutenant, ‘‘ and I’ll undertake per-
sonally to deliver the dog to its owner. In the mean-
time we'll take good care of it. Our steward has sort
of adopted it, so it will be in good hands.”
60 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

“Seems we don’t either of us get the dog,” Daugh-
try commented resignedly, when Captain Duncan had
explained the situation.

But when Daughtry turned his back and started off
along the deck, his constitutional obstinacy tightened
his brows so that the Shortlands planter, observing it,
wondered what the captain had been rowing him about.

Despite his six quarts a day and all his easy-goingness
of disposition, Dag Daughtry possessed certain integri-
ties. ‘Though he could steal a dog, or a cat, without a
twinge of conscience, he could not but be faithful to his
salt, being so made. He could not draw wages for be-
ing a ship steward without faithfully performing the
functions of ship steward. Though his mind was firmly
made up, during the several days of the Makambo in
Sydney, lying alongside the Burns Philp Dock, he saw
to every detail of the cleaning up after the last crowd
of outgoing passengers, and to every detail of prepara-
tion for the next crowd of incoming passengers who
had tickets bought for the passage far away to the coral
seas and the cannibal isles.

In the midst of this devotion to his duty, he took a
night off and part of two afternoons. The night off
was devoted to the public houses which sailormen fre-
quent, and where can be learned the latest gossip and
news of ships and of men who sail upon the sea. Such
information did he gather, over many bottles of beer,
that the next afternoon, hiring a small launch at a cost
of ten shillings, he journeyed up the harbour to Jack-
son Bay where lay the lofty-poled, sweet-lined, three-
topmast American schooner, the Mary Turner.

Once on board, explaining his errand, he was taken
below into the main cabin, where he interviewed, and
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 61

was interviewed by, a quartette of men whom Daugh-
try qualified to himself as ‘‘ a rum bunch.”

It was because he had talked long with the steward
who had left the ship, that Dag Daughtry recognised
and identified each of the fourmen. ‘That, surely, was
the “ Ancient Mariner,” sitting back and apart with
washed eyes of such palest blue that they seemed a
faded white. Long thin wisps of silvery, unkempt hair
framed his face like an aureole. He was slender to
emaciation, cavernously cheeked, roll after roll of skin,
no longer encasing flesh or muscle, hanging grotesquely
down his neck and swathing the Adam’s apple so that
only occasionally, with queer swallowing motions, did it
peep out of the mummy-wrappings of skin and sink back
again from view.

A proper ancient mariner, thought Daughtry.
‘Might be seventy-five, might just as well be a hundred
and five, or a hundred and seventy-five.

Beginning at the right temple, a ghastly scar split
the cheek-bone, sank into the depths of the hollow cheek,
notched across the lower jaw, and plunged to disappear-
ance among the prodigious skin-folds of the neck. The
withered lobes of both ears were perforated by tiny,
Gipsy-like circles of gold. On the skeleton fingers of
his right hand were no less than five rings — not men’s
rings, nor women’s, but foppish rings —“ that would
fetch a price,” Daughtry adjudged. On the left hand
were no rings, for there were no fingers to wear them.
Only was there a thumb; and, for that matter, most of
the hand was missing as well, as if it had been cut off by
the same slicing edge that had cleaved him from temple
to jaw and heaven alone knew how far down that skin-
draped neck.

The Ancient Mariner’s washed eyes seemed to bore
62 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

right through Daughtry (or at least so Daughtry felt),
and rendered him so uncomfortable as to make him
casually step to the side for the matter of a yard. This
was possible, because, a servant seeking a servant's
billet, he was expected to stand and face the four seated
ones as if they were judges on the bench and he the felon
in the dock. Nevertheless, the gaze of the ancient one
pursued him, until, studying it more closely, he decided
that it did not reach to him at all. He got the im-
pression that those washed pale eyes were filmed with
dreams, and that the intelligence, the thing that dwelt
within the skull, fluttered and-beat against the dream-
films and no further.

‘““How much would you expect?” the captain was
asking —a most un-sea-like captain, in Daughtry’s
opinion; rather, a spick-and-span, brisk little business-
man or floorwalker just out of a bandbox.

“ He shall not share,” spoke up another of the four,
huge, rawboned, middle-aged, whom Daughtry identi-
fied by his ham-like hands as the California wheat-
farmer described by the departed steward.

“Plenty for all,” the Ancient Mariner startled
Daughtry by cackling shrilly. ‘‘ Oodles and oodles of
it, my gentlemen, in cask and chest, in cask and chest, a
fathom under the sand.”

“ Share — what, sir?’ Daughtry queried, though
well he knew, the other steward having cursed to him
the day he sailed from San Francisco on a blind lay
instead of straight wages. ‘‘ Not that it matters, sir,”
he hastened to add. “‘I spent a whalin’ yoyage once,
three years of it, an’ paid off with a dollar. Wages for
mine, an’ sixty gold a month seein’ there’s only four of
you.”

“And a mate,” the captain added.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 63

“And a mate,’ Daughtry repeated. ‘“ Very good,
sir. An’ no share.”

“But yourself?’ spoke up the fourth man, a
bulking, colossal-bodied, greasy-seeming grossness of
flesh —the Armenian Jew and San Francisco pawn-
broker the previous steward had warned Daughtry
about. ‘“‘ Have you papers — letters of recommenda-
tion, the documents you receive when you are paid off
before the shipping commissioners? ”

‘“T might ask, sir,” Dag Daughtry brazened it, “ for
your own papers. This ain’t no regular cargo-carrier
or passenger-carrier, no more than you gentlemen are a
regular company of ship-owners, with regular offices,
doin’ business in a regular way. How dol know if you
own the ship even, or that the charter ain’t busted long
ago, or that you’re being libelled ashore right now, or
that you won’t dump me on any old beach anywheres
without a soo-markee of what’s comin’ tome? How-

soever —”’ he anticipated by a bluff of his own the show
of wrath from the Jew that he knew would be wind and
bluff —“ howsoever, here’s my papers . . .”

With a swift dip of his hand into his inside coat-
pocket he scattered out in a wealth of profusion on the
cabin table all the papers, sealed and stamped, that he
had collected in forty-five years of voyaging, the latest
date of which was five years back.

“TI don’t ask your papers,” he went on. ‘* What I
ask is cash payment in full the first of each month, sixty
dollars a month gold —”

“‘ Oodleg’ and oodles of it, gold and gold and better
than gold, in cask and chest, in cask and chest, a fathom
under the sand,” the Ancient Mariner assured him in
* beneficent cackles. ‘‘ Kings, principalities and powers!
— all of us, the least of us. And plenty more, my gen-
64 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

tlemen, plenty more. The latitude and longitude are
mine, and the bearings from the oak ribs on the shoal
to the Lion’s Head, and the cross-bearings from the
points unnamable, I only know. I only still live of all
that brave, mad, scallywag ship’s company . . .”

‘Will you sign the articles to that?” the Jew de-
manded, cutting in on the ancient’s maunderings.

‘‘ What port do you wind up the cruise in?” Daugh-
try asked.

“San Francisco.”

“TIl sign the articles that I’m to sign off in San
Francisco then.”

The Jew, the captain, and the farmer nodded.

‘* But there’s several other things to be agreed upon,”
Daughtry continued. ‘In the first place, 1 want my
six quarts a day. I’m used to it, and I’m too old a
stager to change my habits.”

“Of spirits, I suppose?” the Jew asked sarcasti-
cally.

“No; of beer, good English beer. It must be under-
stood beforehand, no matter what long stretches we
may be at sea, that a sufficient supply is taken along.”

“ Anything else?’ the captain queried.

“Yes, sir,’ Daughtry answered. ‘I got a dog that
must come along.”

“ Anything else? — a wife or family maybe?” the
farmer asked.

“No wife or family, sir. But I got a nigger, a per-
fectly good nigger, that’s got to come along. He can
sign on for ten dollars a month if he works for the
ship all his time. But if he works for me all the time
I'll let him sign on for two an’ a half a month.”

‘Eighteen days in the longboat,” the Ancient Mar-
iner shrilled, to Daughtry’s startlement. ‘‘ Eighteen
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 65

days in the longboat, eighteen days of scorching hell.”

“ My word,” quoth Daughtry, ‘‘ the old gentleman’d
give one the jumps. There’ll sure have to be plenty
of beer.”

“Sea stewards put on some style, I must say,” com-
mented the wheat farmer, oblivious to the Ancient
Mariner, who still declaimed of the heat of the long-
boat.

“ Suppose we don’t see our way to signing a steward
who travels in such style?’ the Jew asked, mopping the
inside of his collar-band with a coloured silk handker-
chief.

“Then you'll never know what a good steward
you've missed, sir,’ Daughtry responded airily.

“I guess there’s plenty more stewards on Sydney
beach,” the captain said briskly. ‘‘ And I guess I
haven’t forgotten old days when J hired them like so
much dirt, yes, by Jinks, so much dirt, there were so
many of them.”

“Thank you, Mr. Steward, for looking us up,” the
Jew took up the idea with insulting oiliness. ‘“ We
very much regret our inability to meet your wishes in
the matter —”

“And I saw it go under the sand, a fathom under
the sand, on cross-bearings unnamable, where the man-
groves fade away, and the coconuts grow, and the rise
of land lifts from the beach to the Lion’s Head.”

‘“* Hold your horses,’’ the wheat farmer said, with a
flare of irritation, directed, not at the Ancient Mariner,
but at the captain andthe Jew. ‘‘ Who’s putting up for
this expedition? Don’t I get no say so? Ain’t my
opinion ever to be asked? JI like this steward. Strikes
me he’s the real goods. I notice he’s as polite as
all get-out, and I can see he can take an order with-
66 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

out arguing. And he ain’t no fool by a long shot.”

“That’s the very point, Grimshaw,” the Jew an-
swered soothingly. ‘‘ Considering the unusualness of
our . . . of the expedition, we’d be better served by a
steward who is more of a fool. Another point, which
I’d esteem a real favour from you, is not to forget
that you haven’t put a red copper more into this trip
than I have —”

‘“* And where'd either of you be, if it wasn’t for me
with my knowledge of the sea?” the captain demanded
agerievedly. ‘‘ To say nothing of the mortgage on my
house and on the nicest little, best-paying flat-building in
San Francisco since the earthquake.”’

“ But who’s still putting up ? — all of you, I ask you.”
The wheat farmer leaned forward, resting the heels of
his hands on his knees so that the fingers hung down his
long shins, in Daughtry’s appraisal, half way to his
feet. ‘“ You, Captain Doane, can’t raise another penny
on your properties. My land still grows the wheat that
brings the ready. You, Simon Nishikanta, won’t put up
another penny — yet your loan-shark offices are doing
business at the same old stands at God knows what
per cent to drunken sailors. And you hang the expedi-
tion up here in this hole-in-the-wall waiting for my agent
to cable more wheat money. Well, I guess we'll just
sign on this steward at sixty a month and all he asks, or
Pll just naturally quit you cold on the next fast steamer
to San Francisco.”

He stood up abruptly, towering to such height that
Daughtry looked to see the crown of his head collide
with the deck above.

“T’m sick and tired of you all, yes, I am,” he con-
tinued. ‘“‘Get busy! Well, let’s get busy. My
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 67

money’s coming. It’llbe here by to-morrow. Let’s be
ready to start by hiring a steward that is a steward. I
don’t care if he brings two families along.”

‘* I guess you’re right, Grimshaw,” Simon Nishikanta
said appeasingly. ‘‘The trip is beginning to get on all
our nerves. Forget it if I fly off the handle. Of
course we'll take this steward if you want him. 1
thought he was too stylish for you.”

He turned to Daughtry.

“‘ Naturally, the least said ashore about us the bet-
ter.”

“ That’s all right, sir. I can keep my mouth shut,
though I might as well tell you there’s some pretty
tales about you drifting around the beach right now.”

“The object of our expedition?” the Jew queried
quickly. i

Daughtry nodded.

“Ts that why you want to come?” was demanded
equally quickly.

Daughtry shook his head.

“ As long as you give me. my beer each day, sir, I
ain’t goin’ to be interested in your treasure huntin’. It
ain’t no new tale to me. The South Seas is populous
with treasure-hunters—” Almost could Daughtry
have sworn that he had seen a flash of anxiety break
through the dream-films that bleared the Ancient Mar-
iner’s eyes. ‘‘ And I must say, sir,’ he went on easily,
though saying what he would not have said had it not
been for what he was almost certain he sensed of the
ancient’s anxiousness, “ that the South Seas is just nat-
urally lousy with buried treasure. There’s Keeling-
Cocos, millions ’n’ millions of it, pounds sterling, I
mean, waiting for the lucky one with the right steer.”
68 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

This time Daughtry could have sworn to having
sensed a change toward relief in the Ancient Mariner,
whose eyes were again filmy with dreams.

“ But I ain’t interested in treasure, sir,’ Daughtry
concluded. ‘It’s beer I’m interested in. You can
chase your treasure, an’ I don’t care how long, just as
long as I’ve got six quarts to open each day. But I
give you fair warning, sir, before I sign on: if the beer
dries up, I’m goin’ to get interested in what you’re
after. Fair play is my motto.”

“Do you expect us to pay for your beer in addi-
tion?” Simon Nishikanta demanded.

To Daughtry it was too good to be true. Here,
with the Jew healing the breach with the wheat-farmer
whose agents still cabled money, was the time to take
advantage.

“* Sure, it’s one of our agreements, sir. What time
would it suit you, sir, to-morrow afternoon, for me to -
sign on at the shipping commissioner’s? ”

“* Casks and chests of it, casks and chests of it, oodles
and oodles, a fathom under the sand,” chattered the
Ancient Mariner.

“'You’re all touched up under the roof,” Daughtry
grinned. “ Which ain’t got nothing to do with me as
long as you furnish the beer, pay me due an’ proper
what’s comin’ to me the first of each an’ every month,
an’ pay me off final in San Francisco. As long as you
keep up your end, I’ll sail with you to the Pit ’n’ back
an’ watch you sweatin’ the casks ’n’ chests out of the
sand. What I want is to sail with you if you want me
to sail with you enough to satisfy me.”

Simon Nishikanta glanced about. Grimshaw and
Captain Doane nodded. ;

‘‘ At three o’clock to-morrow afternoon, at the ship-
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 69

mW)

ping commissioner’s,” the Jew agreed. ‘‘ When will
you report for duty?”

“When will you sail, sir?’ Daughtry countered.

“ Bright and early next morning.”

“Then I'll be on board and on duty some time to-
morrow night, sir.”

And as he went up the cabin companion, he could hear
the Ancient Mariner maundering: ‘“ Eighteen days in
the longboat, eighteen days of scorching hell . . .”
CHAPTER X

ICHAEL left the Makambo as he had come on
board, through a porthole. Likewise, the af-
fair occurred at night and it was Kwaque’s hands that
received him. It had been quick work, and daring, in
the dark of early evening. From the boat-deck, with
a bowline under Kwaque’s arms and a turn of the rope
around a pin, Dag Daughtry had lowered his leprous
servitor into the waiting launch.

On his way below, he encountered Captain Duncan,
who saw fit to warn him:

“No shenanigan with Killeny Boy, steward. He
must go back to Tulagi with us.”

“Yes, sir,” the steward agreed; ‘an’ I’m keepin’
him tight in my room to make safe. Want to see him,
sir?”

The very frankness of the invitation made the cap-
tain suspicious, and the thought flashed through his
mind that perhaps Killeny Boy was already hidden
ashore somewhere by the dog-stealing steward.

‘Yes, indeed, I'd like to say how-do-you-do to him,”
Captain Duncan answered.

And his was genuine surprise, on entering the stew-
ard’s room, to behold Michael just rousing from his
curled-up sleep on the floor. But when he left, his sur-
prise would have been shocking could he have seen
through the closed door what immediately began to
take place. Out through the open porthole, in a steady
stream, Daughtry was passing the contents of the room.

70
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 71

Everything went that belonged to him, including the
turtle shell and the photographs and calendars on the
wall. Michael, with the command of silence laid upon
him, went last. Remained only a sea-chest and two
suit-cases, themselves too large for the porthole but
bare of contents.

When Daughtry sauntered along the main deck a
few minutes later and paused for a gossip with the
customs officer and a quartermaster at the head of the
gangplank, Captain Duncan little dreamed that his
casual glance was resting on his steward for the last
time. He watched him go down the gangplank empty-
handed, with no dog at his heels, and stroll off along
the wharf under the electric lights.

Ten minutes after Captain Duncan saw the last of
his broad back, Daughtry, in the launch with his be-
longings and heading for Jackson Bay, was hunched
over Michael and caressing him, while Kwaque, croon-
ing with joy under his breath that he was with all that
was precious to him in the world, felt once again in the
side pocket of his flimsy coat to make sure that his be-
loved jew’s-harp had not been left behind.

Dag Daughtry was paying for Michael,-and paying
well. Among other things, he had not cared to arouse
suspicion by drawing his wages from Burns Philp. The
twenty pounds due him he had abandoned, and this was
the very sum, that night on the beach at Tulagi, he had
decided he could realise from the sale of Michael. He
had stolen him to sell. He was paying for him the
sales price that had tempted him.

For, as one has well said: the horse abases the base,
ennobles the noble. Likewise the dog. The theft of
a dog to sell for a price had been the abasement worked
by Michael on Dag Daughtry. To pay the price out
72, MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

of sheer heart-love that could recognise no price too
great to pay, had been the ennoblement of Dag Daugh-
try which Michael had worked. And as the launch
chug-chugged across the quiet harbour under the south-
ern stars, Dag Daughtry would have risked and tossed
his life into the bargain in a battle to continue to have
and to hold the dog he had originally conceived of as
being interchangeable for so many dozens of beer.

The Mary Turner, towed out by a tug, sailed shortly
after daybreak, and Daughtry, Kwaque, and Michael
looked their last forever on Sydney Harbour.

“Once again these old eyes have seen this fair
haven,” the Ancient Mariner, beside them gazing, bab-
bled; and Daughtry could not help but notice the way
the wheat farmer and the pawnbroker pricked their ears
to listen and glanced each to the other with significant
eyes. “It was in ’52, in 1852, on such a day as this,
all drinking and singing along the decks, we cleared
from Sydney in the Wide Awake. A pretty craft, oh,
sirs, a most clever and pretty craft. A crew, a brave
crew, all youngsters, all of us, fore and aft, no man was
forty, a mad, gay crew. The captain was an elderly
gentleman of twenty-eight, the third officer another of
eighteen, the down, untouched of steel, like so much
young velvet on his cheek. He, too, died in the long-
boat. And the captain gasped out his last under the
palm trees of the isle unnamable while the brown maid-
ens wept about him and fanned the air to his parching
lungs.”

Dag Daughtry heard no more, for he turned below
to take up his new routine of duty. But while he made
up bunks with fresh linen and directed Kwaque’s efforts
to cleaning long neglected floors, he shook his head to
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 73

himself and muttered: ‘‘ He’s a keen ’un. He’s a
keen ’un. All ain’t fools that look it.”’

The fine lines of the Mary Turner were explained by
the fact that she had been built for seal-hunting; and for
the same reason on board of her was room and to
spare. The forecastle, with bunk-space for twelve,
bedded but eight Scandinavian seamen. The five state-
rooms of the cabin accommodated the three treasure-
hunters, the Ancient Mariner, and the mate — the lat-
ter a large-bodied, gentle-souled Russian-Finn, known
as Mr. Jackson through inability of his shipmates to
pronounce the name he had signed on the ship’s articles.

Remained the steerage, just for’ard of the cabin,
separated from it by a stout bulkhead and entered by a
companionway on the main deck. On this deck, be-
tween the break of the poop and the steerage com-
panion, stood the galley. In the steerage itself, which
possessed a far larger living space than the cabin, were
six capacious bunks, each double the width of the fore-
castle bunks, and each curtained and with no bunk above
it

“‘Some fella glory-hole, eh, Kwaque?” Daughtry
told his seventeen-year-old brown-skinned Papuan with
the withered ancient face of a centenarian, the legs of a
living skeleton, and the huge-stomached torso of an
elderly Japanese wrestler. ‘“‘ Eh, Kwaque! What
you fella think? ”

And Kwaque, too awed by the spaciousness to speak,
eloquently rolled his eyes in agreement.

“You likee this piecee bunk?” the cook, a little old
Chinaman, asked the steward with eager humility, in-
viting the white man’s acceptance of his own bunk with
a wave of arm. ,

Daughtry shook his head. He had early learned
74 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

that it was wise to get along well with sea-cooks, since
sea-cooks were notoriously given to going suddenly
lunatic and slicing and hacking up their shipmates with
butcher knives and meat cleavers on the slightest re-
membered provocation. Besides, there was an equally
good bunk all the way across the width of the steerage
from the Chinaman’s. The bunk next on the port side
to the cook’s and abaft of it, Daughtry allotted to
Kwaque. ‘Thus he retained for himself and Michael
the entire starboard side with its three bunks. The
next one abaft of his own he named “ Killeny Boy’s,”
and called on Kwaque and the cook to take notice.
Daughtry had a sense that the cook, whose name had
been quickly volunteered as Ah Moy, was not entirely
satisfied with the arrangement; but it affected him no
more than a momentary curiosity about a Chinaman
who drew the line at a dog taking a bunk in the same
apartment with him.

Half an hour later, returning, from setting the cabin
aright, to the steerage for Kwaque to serve him with a
bottle of beer, Daughtry observed that Ah Moy had
moved his entire bunk belongings across the steerage to
the third bunk on the starboard side. This had put
him with Daughtry and Michael and left Kwaque with
half the steerage to himself. Daughtry’s curiosity
recrudesced.

“ What name along that fella Chink?” he demanded
of Kwaque. ‘‘He no like ’m you fella boy stop ’m
along same fella side along him. What for? My
word! What name? That fella Chink make ’m me
cross along him too much! ”

‘‘ Suppose ’m that fella Chink maybe he think ’m me
kai-kai along him,” Kwaque grinned in one of his rare
jokes.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 75

‘* All right,” the steward concluded. ‘‘ We find out.
You move ’m along my bunk, I move ’m along that
fella Chink’s bunk.”

This accomplished, so that Kwaque, Michael, and
Ah Moy occupied the starboard side and Daughtry
alone bunked on the port side, he went on deck and aft
to his duties. On his next return he found Ah Moy
had transferred back to the port side, but this time into
the last bunk aft.

‘* Seems the beggar’s taken a fancy to me,” the stew-
ard smiled to himself.

Nor was he capable of guessing Ah Moy’s reason for
bunking always on the opposite side from Kwaque.

“* T changee,” the little old cook explained, with anx-
ious eyes to please and placate, in response to Daugh-
try’s direct question. ‘“‘ All the time like that, changee,
plentee changee. You savvee?”’

Daughtry did not savvee, and shook his head, while
Ah Moy’s slant eyes betrayed none of the anxiety and
fear with which he privily gazed on Kwaque’s two per-
manently bent fingers of the left hand and on Kwaque’s
forehead, between the eyes, where the skin appeared a
shade darker, a trifle thicker, and was marked by the
first beginning of the three short vertical lines or creases
that were already giving him the lion-like appearance,
the leonine face so named by the experts and technicians
of the fell disease.

As the days passed, the steward took facetious occa-
sions, when he had drunk five quarts of his daily allow-
ance, to shift his and Kwaque’s bunks about. And in-
variably Ah Moy shifted, though Daughtry failed to
notice that he never shifted into a bunk which Kwaque
had occupied. Nor did he notice that it was when the
time came that Kwaque had variously occupied all the
76 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

six bunks that Ah Moy made himself a canvas ham-
mock, suspended it from the deck beams above, and
‘thereafter swung clear in space and unmolested.

Daughtry dismissed the matter from his thoughts as
no more than a thing in keeping with the general in-
scrutability of the Chinese mind. He did notice, how-
ever, that Kwaque was never permitted to enter the
galley. Another thing he noticed, which, expressed in
his own words, was: ‘“‘ That’s the all-dangdest cleanest
Chink I’ve ever clapped my lamps on. Clean in galley,
clean in steerage, clean in everything. He’s always
washing the dishes in boiling water, when he isn’t wash-
ing himself or his clothes or bedding. My word, he
actually boils his blankets once a week!”

For there were other things to occupy the steward’s
mind. Getting acquainted with the five men aft in the
cabin, and lining up the whole situation and the relations
of each of the five to that situation and to one another,
consumed much time. Then there was the path of the
Mary Turner across the sea. No old sailor breathes
who does not desire to know the casual course of his ship
and the next port of call.

“We ought to be moving along a line that'll cross
somewhere north’ard of New Zealand,” Daughtry
guessed to himself, after a hundred stolen glances into
the binnacle. But that was all the information con-
cerning the ship’s navigation he could steal; for Captain
Doane took the observations and worked them out, to
the exclusion of the mate, and Captain Doane always
methodically locked up his chart and log. That there
were heated discussions in the cabin, in which terms of
latitude and longitude were bandied back and forth,
Daughtry did know; but more than that he could not
know because it was early impressed upon him that the
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 77

one place for him never to be, at such times of council,
was the cabin. Also, he could not but conclude that
these councils were real battles wherein Messrs. Doane,
Nishikanta, and Grimshaw screamed at each other and
pounded the table at each other, when they were not
patiently and most politely interrogating the Ancient
Mariner.

““He’s got their goat,” the steward early concluded
to himself; but, thereafter, try as he would, he failed
to get the Ancient Mariner’s goat.

Charles Stough Greenleaf was the Ancient Mariner’s
name. ‘This, Daughtry got from him, and nothing else
did he get save maunderings and ravings about the heat
of the longboat and the treasure a fathom deep under
the sand.

‘‘ There’s some of us plays games, an’ some of us as
looks on an’ admires the games they see,” the steward
made his bid one day. ‘‘ And I’m sure these days
lookin’ on at a pretty game. The more I see it the
more I got to admire.”

The Ancient Mariner dreamed back into the stew-
ard’s eyes with a blank, unseeing gaze.

“On the Wide Awake all the stewards were young,
mere boys,” he murmured.

“Yes, sir,” Daughtry agreed pleasantly. “ From
all you say, the Wide Awake, with all its youngsters,
was sure some craft. Not like the crowd of old ’uns
on this here hooker. But I doubt, sir, that them
youngsters ever played as clever games as is being
played aboard us right now. I just got to admire the
fine way it’s being done, sir.”

“Tl tell you something,” the Ancient Mariner re-
plied, with such confidential air that almost Daughtry
leaned to hear. ‘‘ No steward on the Wide Awake
78 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY.

could mix a high-ball in just the way I like, as well as
you. We didn’t know cocktails in those days, but we
had sherry and bitters. A good appetiser, too, a most
excellent appetiser.

“T’ll tell you something more,” he continued, just
as it seemed he had finished, and just in time to interrupt
‘Daughtry away from his third attempt to ferret out the
true inwardness of the situation on the Mary Turner
and of the Ancient Mariner’s part init. “‘ It’s mighty
nigh five bells, and I should be very pleased to have one
of your delicious cocktails ere I go down to dine.”

More suspicious than ever of him was Daughtry after
this episode. But, as the days went by, he came more
and more to the conclusion that Charles Stough Green-
leaf was a senile old man who sincerely believed in the
abiding of a buried treasure somewhere in the South
Seas.

Once, polishing the brasswork on the handrails of
the cabin companionway, Daughtry overheard the an-
cient one explaining his terrible scar and missing fingers
to Grimshaw and the Armenian Jew. The pair of them
had plied him with extra drinks in the hope of getting
more out of him by way of his loosened tongue.

“It was in the longboat,” the aged voice cackled up
the companion. ‘On the eleventh day it was that the
mutiny broke. We in the sternsheets stood together
againstthem. It wasalla madness. We were starved
sore, but we were mad for water. It was over the
water it began. For, see you, it was our custom to lick
the dew from the oar-blades, the gunwales, the thwarts,
and the inside planking. And each man of us had de-
veloped property in the dew-collecting surfaces. Thus.
the tiller and the rudder-head and half of the plank of
MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY. 79

the starboard stern-sheet had become the property of
the second officer. No one of us lacked the honour to
respect his property. The third officer was a lad, only
eighteen, a brave and charming boy. He shared with
the second officer the starboard stern-sheet plank.
They drew a line to mark the division, and neither, lap-
ping up what scant moisture fell during the night-hours,
ever dreamed of trespassing across the line. They
were too honourable.

“But the sailors—no. They squabbled amongst
themselves over the dew-surfaces, and only the night
before one of them was knifed because he so stole. But
on this night, waiting for the dew, a little of it, to be-
come more, on the surfaces that were mine, I heard the
noises of a dew-lapper moving aft along the port-gun-
wale — which was my property aft of the stroke-thwart
clear tothe stern. I emerged from a nightmare dream
of crystal springs and swollen rivers to listen to this
night-drinker that I feared might encroach upon what
was mine.

““ Nearer he came to the line of my property, and I
could hear him making little moaning, whimpering
noises as he licked the damp wood. It was like listen-
ing to an animal grazing pasture grass at night and ever
grazing nearer.

“It chanced I was holding a boat-stretcher in my
hand — to catch what little dew might fall upon it. I
did not know who it was, but when he lapped across the
line and moaned and whimpered as he licked up my
precious drops of dew, I struck out. ‘The boat-stretcher
caught him fairly on the nose — it was the bo’s’n — and
the mutiny began. It was the bo’s’n’s knife that sliced
down my face and sliced away my fingers. The third
80 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY.

officer, the eighteen-year-old lad, fought well beside me,
and saved me, so that, just before I fainted, he and I,
between us, hove the bo’s’n’s carcass overside.”

A shifting of feet and changing of positions of those
in the cabin, plunged Daughtry back into his polishing
which he had for the time forgotten. And, as he
rubbed the brass-work, he told himself under his breath:
“The old party’s sure been through the mill. Such
things just got to happen.”

“No,” the Ancient Mariner was continuing, in his
thin falsetto, in reply to a query. “It wasn’t the
wounds that made me faint. It was the exertion I made
in the struggle. I was too weak. No; so little moist-
ure was there in my system that I didn’t bleed much.
And the amazing thing, under the circumstances, was the
quickness with which I healed. The second officer
sewed me up next day with a needle he’d made out of an
ivory toothpick and with twine he twisted out of the
threads from a frayed tarpaulin.”

“Might I ask, Mr. Greenleaf, if there were rings
at the time on the fingers that were cut off?’ Daugh-
try heard Simon Nishikanta ask.

“Yes, and one beauty. I found it afterward in the
boat bottom and presented it to the sandalwood trader
who rescued me. It was a large diamond. I paid one
hundred and eighty guineas for it to an English sailor
in the Barbados. He’d stolen it, and of course it was
worth more. It was a beautiful gem. The sandal-
wood man did not merely save my life for it. In addi-
tion, he spent fully a hundred pounds in outfitting me

and buying me a passage from Thursday Island to
Shanghai.”

“There’s no getting away from them rings he
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 81

wears,” Daughtry overheard Simon Nishikanta that
evening telling Grimshaw in the dark on the weather
poop. ‘“‘ You don’t see that kind now-a-days. They’re
old, real old. They’re not men’s rings so much as what
you'd call, in the old-fashioned days, gentlemen’s rings.
Real gentlemen, I mean, grand gentlemen, wore rings
like them. I wish collateral like them came into my
loan offices these days. They’re worth big money.”

“IT just want to tell you, Killeny Boy, that maybe
I'll be wishin’ before the voyage is over that I’d gone on
a lay of the treasure instead of straight wages,” Dag
Daughtry confided to Michael that night at turning-in
time, as Kwaque removed his shoes and as he paused
midway in the draining of his sixth bottle. ‘‘ Take it
from me, Killeny, that old gentleman knows what he’s
talkin’ about, an’ has been some hummer in his days.
Men don’t lose the fingers off their hands and get their
faces chopped open just for nothing — nor sport rings
that makes a Jew pawnbroker’s mouth water.”
CHAPTER XI

EFORE the voyage of the Mary Turner came to

an end, Dag Daughtry, sitting down between the

rows of water-casks in the main-hold, with a great laugh

rechristened the schooner “‘ the Ship of Fools.” But

that was some weeks after. In the meantime he so

fulfilled his duties that not even Captain Doane could
conjure a shadow of complaint.

Especially did the steward attend upon the Ancient
Mariner, for whom he had come to conceive a strong
admiration, if not affection. The old fellow was dif-
ferent from his cabin-mates. They were money-lovers;
everything in them had narrowed down to the pursuit
of dollars. Daughtry, himself moulded on generously
careless lines, could not but appreciate the spaciousness
of the Ancient Mariner, who had evidently lived spa-
ciously and who was ever for sharing the treasure they
sought.

“You'll get your whack, steward, if it comes out of
my share,” he frequently assured Daughtry at times of
special kindness on the latter’s part. ‘‘ There’s oodles
of it, and oodles of it, and, without kith or kin, I have
so little time longer to live that I shall not need it much
or much of it.”

And so the Ship of Fools sailed on, all aft fooling and
befooling, from the guileless-eyed, gentle-souled Finnish
mate, who, with the scent of treasure pungent in his
nostrils, with a duplicate key stole the ship’s daily posi-

tion from Captain Doane’s locked desk, to Ah Moy,
82
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 83

the cook, who kept Kwaque at a distance and never whis-
pered warning to the others of the risk they ran from
continual contact with the carrier of the terrible dis-
ease.

Kwaque himself had neither thought nor worry of the
matter. He knew the thing as a thing that occasionally
happened to human creatures. It bothered him, from
the pain standpoint, scarcely at all, and it never entered
his kinky head that his master did not know about it.
For the same reason he never suspected why Ah Moy
kept him so at a distance. Nor had Kwaque other
worries. His god, over all gods of sea and jungle, he
worshipped, and, himself ever intimately allowed in
the presence, paradise was wherever he and his god, the
steward, might be.

And so Michael. Much in the same way that
Kwaque loved and worshipped did he love and worship
the six-quart man. To Michael and Kwaque, the daily,
even hourly, recognition and consideration of Dag
Daughtry was tantamount to resting continuously in the
bosom of Abraham. The god of Messrs. Doane,
Nishikanta, and Grimshaw was a graven god whose
name wasGold. The god of Kwaque and Michael was
a living god, whose voice could be always heard, whose
arms could be always warm, the pulse of whose heart
could be always felt throbbing in a myriad acts and
touches.

No greater joy was Michael’s than to sit by the hour
with Steward and sing with him all songs and tunes he
sang or hummed. With a quantity or pitch even more
of genius or unusualness in him than in Jerry, Michael
learned more quickly, and, since the way of his educa-
tion was singing, he came to sing far beyond the best
Villa Kennan ever taught Jerry.
84 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Michael could howl, or sing, rather (because his
howling was so mellow and so controlled), any air that
was not beyond his register that Steward elected to sing
with him. In addition, he could sing by himself, and
unmistakably, such simple airs as ‘‘ Home, Sweet
Home,” “ God Save the King,” and ‘‘ The Sweet Bye
and Bye.” Even alone, prompted by Steward a score
of feet away from him, could he lift up his muzzle and
sing ‘“‘ Shenandoah ” and “‘ Roll Me Down to Rio.”

Kwaque, on stolen occasions when Steward was not
around, would get out his jew’s-harp and by the sheer
compellingness of the primitive instrument make
Michael sing with him the barbaric and devil-devil
rhythms of King William Island. Another master of
song, but one in whom Michael delighted, came to rule
over him. This master’s name was Cocky. He so
introduced himself to Michael at their first meeting.

“ Cocky,” he said bravely, without a quiver of fear
or flight, when Michael had charged upon him at sight
to destroy him. And the human voice, the voice of a
god, issuing from the throat of the tiny, snow-white
bird, had made Michael go back on his haunches, while,
with eyes and nostrils, he quested the steerage for the
human who had spoken. And there was no human
. . . only a small cockatoo that twisted his head impu-
dently and sidewise at him and repeated, “‘ Cocky.”

The taboo of the chicken Michael had been well
taught in his earliest days at Meringe. Chickens, es-
teemed by Mister Haggin and his white-god fellows,
were things that dogs must defend instead of attack.
But this thing, itself no chicken, with the seeming of a
wild feathered thing of the jungle that was fair game
for any dog, talked to him with the voice of a god.

“ Get off your foot,” it commanded so peremptorily,
e
%

MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 85

so humanly, as again to startle Michael and make him
quest about the steerage for the god-throat that had
uttered it.

‘* Get off your foot, or I’ll throw the leg of Moses
at you,” was the next command from the tiny feathered
thing.

After that came a farrago of Chinese, so like the
voice of Ah Moy, that again, though for the last time,
Michael sought about the steerage for the utterer.

At this Cocky burst into such wild and fantastic
shrieks of laughter that Michael, ears pricked, head
cocked to one side, identified in the fibres of the laugh-
ter the fibres of the various voices he had just previ-
ously heard.

And Cocky, only a few ounces in weight, less than
half a pound, a tiny framework of fragile bone covered
with a handful of feathers and encasing a heart that
was as big in pluck as any heart on the Mary Turner,
became almost immediately Michael’s friend and com-
rade, as well as ruler. Minute morsel of daring and
courage that Cocky was, he commanded Michael’s re-
spect from the first. And Michael, who with a single
careless paw-stroke could have broken Cocky’s slender
neck and put out forever the brave brightness of
Cocky’s eyes, was careful of him from the first. And
he permitted him a myriad liberties that he would
never have permitted Kwaque.

Ingrained in Michael’s heredity, from the very be-
ginning of four-legged dogs on earth, was the defence
of the meat. He never reasoned it. Automatic and
involuntary as his heart-beating and air-breathing, was
his defence of his meat once he had his paw on it, his
teeth in it. Only to Steward, by an extreme effort of
will and control could he accord the right to touch his
86 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

meat once he had himself touched it. Even Kwaque,
who most usually fed him under Steward’s instructions,
knew that the safety of fingers and flesh resided in hav-
ing nothing further whatever to do with anything of
food once in Michael’s possession. But Cocky, a bit
of feathery down, a morsel-flash of light and life with
the throat of a god, violated with sheer impudence and
daring Michael’s taboo, the defence of the meat.

Perched on the rim of Michael’s pannikin, this incon-
siderable adventurer from out of the dark into the sun
of life, a mere spark and mote between the darks, by a
rufing of his salmon-pink crest, a swift and enormous
dilation of his bead-black pupils, and a raucous impera-
tive cry, as of all the gods, in his throat, could make
Michael give back and permit the fastidious selection
of the choicest tidbits of his dish.

For Cocky had a way with him, and ways and ways.
He, who was sheer bladed steel in the imperious flash-
ing of his will, could swashbuckle and bully like any
over-seas roisterer, or wheedle as wickedly winningly
as the first woman out of Eden or the last woman of
that descent. When Cocky, balanced on one leg, the
other leg in the air as the foot of it held the scruff of
Michael’s neck, leaned to Michael’s ear and wheedled,
Michael could only lay down silkily the bristly hair-
waves of his neck, and with silly half-idiotic eyes of
bliss agree to whatever was Cocky’s will or whimsy so
delivered.

Cocky became more intimately Michael’s because,
very early, Ah Moy washed his hands of the bird. Ah
Moy had bought him in Sydney from a sailor for eight-
een shillings and chaffered an hour over the bargain.
But when he saw Cocky, one day, perched and voluble,
on the twisted fingers of Kwaque’s left hand, Ah Moy
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY = 87

discovered such instant distaste for the bird that not
even eighteen shillings, coupled with possession of
Cocky and possible contact, had any value to him.

“You likee him? You wanchee?” he proffered.

“Changee for changee?’’ Kwaque queried back,
taking for granted that it was an offer to exchange, and
wondering whether the little old cook had become
enamoured of his precious Jew’s-harp.

‘““No changee for changee,” Ah Moy answered.
** You wanchee him, all right, can do.”

“How fashion can do?’’ Kwaque demanded, who
to his beche de mer English was already adding pidgin
English. ‘‘ Suppose’m me fella no got’m what you
fella likee?”

‘“* No fashion changee,” Ah Moy reiterated. ‘‘ You
wanchee, you likee he stop along you fella, all right, my
word.”

And so did pass the brave bit of feathered life with
the heart of pluck, called of men, and of himself,
“* Cocky,” who had been birthed in the jungle roof of
the island of Santo, in the New Hebrides, who had been
netted by a two-legged black man-eater and sold for
six sticks of tobacco and a shingle hatchet to a Scotch
trader dying of malaria, and in turn had been traded
from hand to hand, for four shillings to a blackbirder,
for a turtle-shell comb made by an English coal-passer
after an old Spanish design, for the appraised value of
six shillings and sixpence in a poker game in the fire-
men’s forecastle, for a second-hand accordion worth at
least twenty shillings, and on for eighteen shillings cash
_ toa little old withered Chinaman — so did pass Cocky,
as mortal or as immortal as any brave sparkle of life
on the planet, from the possession of one, Ah Moy, a
sea cook who forty years before had slain his young
88 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

wife in Macao for cause and fled away to sea, to
Kwaque, a leprous Black Papuan who was slave to one,
Dag Daughtry, himself a servant of other men to
whom he humbly admitted “ Yes,.sir,” and “ No, sir,”
and ‘“‘ Thank you, sir.”

One other comrade Michael found, although Cocky
was no party to the friendship. This was Scraps, the
awkward young Newfoundland puppy, who was the
property of no one, unless of the schooner Mary Tur-
ner herself, for no man, fore or aft, claimed owner-
ship, while every man disclaimed having brought him
on board. So he was called Scraps, and, since he was
nobody’s dog, was everybody’s dog — so much so, that
Mr. Jackson promised to knock Ah Moy’s block off if
he did not feed the puppy well, while Sigurd Halvor-
sen, in the forecastle, did his best to knock off Henrik
Gjertsen’s block when the latter was guilty of kicking
Scraps out of his way. Yea, even more. When
Simon Nishikanta, huge and gross as in the flesh he was
and forever painting delicate, insipid, feministic water
colours, when he threw his deck chair at Scraps for
clumsily knocking over his easel, he found the ham-like
hand of Grimshaw so instant and heavy on his shoulder
as to whirl him half about, almost fling him to the deck,
and leave him lame-muscled and black-and-blued for
days.

Michael, full grown, mature, was so merry-hearted
an individual that he found all delight in interminable
romps with Scraps. So strong was the play instinct in
him, as well as was his constitution strong, that he con-
tinually outplayed Scraps to abject weariness, so that
he could only lie on the deck and pant and laugh
through air-draughty lips and dab futilely in the air
with weak forepaws at Michael’s continued ferocious-
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 89

acted onslaughts. And this, despite the fact that
Scraps outbullied him and outscaled him at least three
times and was as careless and unwitting of the weight
of his legs or shoulders as a baby elephant on a lawn of
daisies. Given his breath back again, Scraps was as
ripe as ever for another frolic, and Michael was just as
ripe to meet him. All of which was splendid training
for Michael, keeping him in the tip-top of physical con-
dition and mental wholesomeness.
CHAPTER XII

O sailed the Ship of Fools — Michael playing with
Scraps, respecting Cocky and by Cocky being bul-
lied and wheedled, singing with Steward and worship-
ping him; Daughtry drinking his six quarts of beer each
day, collecting his wages the first of each month, and
admiring Charles Stough Greenleaf as the finest man
on board; Kwaque serving and loving his master and
thickening and darkening and creasing his brow with
the growing leprous infiltration; Ah Moy avoiding the
Black Papuan as the very plague, washing himself con-
tinuously and boiling his blankets once a week; Captain
Doane doing the navigating and worrying about his
flat-building in San Francisco; Grimshaw resting his
ham-hands on his colossal knees and girding at the
pawnbroker to contribute as much to the adventure as
he was contributing from his wheat ranches; Simon
Nishikanta wiping his sweaty neck with the greasy silk
handkerchief and painting endless water-colours; the
mate patiently stealing the ship’s latitude and longitude
with his duplicate key; and the Ancient Mariner, solac-
ing himself with Scotch highballs, smoking fragrant
three-for-a-dollar Havanas that were charged to the
adventure, and forever maundering about the hell of
the longboat, the cross bearings unnamable, and the
treasure a fathom under the sand.

Came a stretch of ocean that to Daughtry was like
all other stretches of ocean and unidentifiable from
them. No land broke the sea-rim. The ship the

90
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY g1

centre, the horizon was the invariable and eternal circle
of the world. The magnetic needle in the binnacle was
the point on which the Mary Turner ever pivoted.
The sun rose in the undoubted east and set in the un-
doubted west, corrected and proved, of course, by
declination, deviation, and variation; and the nightly
march of the stars and constellations proceeded across
the sky.

And in this stretch of ocean, lookouts were mast-
headed at day-dawn and kept mastheaded until twi-
light of evening, when the Mary Turner was hove to,
to hold her position through the night. As time went
by, and the scent, according to the Ancient Mariner,
grew hotter, all three of the investors in the adventure
came to going aloft. Grimshaw contented himself
with standing on the main crosstrees. Captain Doane
climbed even higher, seating himself on the stump of
the foremast with legs astraddle of the butt of the fore-
topmast. And Simon Nishikanta tore himself away
from his everlasting painting of all colour-delicacies of
sea and sky such as are painted by seminary maidens,
to be helped and hoisted up the ratlines of the mizzen
rigging, the huge bulk of him, by two grinning, slim-
waisted sailors, until they lashed him squarely on the
crosstrees and left him to stare, with eyes of golden de-
sire, across the sun-washed sea through the finest pair
of unredeemed binoculars that had ever been pledged
in his pawnshops.

“Strange,” the Ancient Mariner would mutter,
“strange, and most strange. ‘This is the very place.
There can be no mistake. I’d have trusted that young-
ster of a third officer anywhere. He was only eight-
een, but he could navigate better than the captain.
Didn’t he fetch the atoll after eighteen days in the
92 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

longboat? No standard compasses, and you know
what a small-boat horizon is, with a big sea, for a sex-
tant. He died, but the dying course he gave me held
good, so that I fetched the atoll the very next day after
T hove his body overboard.”

Captain Doane would shrug his shoulders and defi-
antly meet the mistrustful eyes of the Armenian Jew.

“It cannot have sunk, surely,” the Ancient Mariner
would tactfully carry across the forbidding pause.
“The island was no mere shoal or reef. The Lion’s
Head was thirty-eight hundred and thirty-five feet. I
saw the captain and the third officer triangulate it.”

“‘T’ve raked and combed the sea,’ Captain Doane
would then break out, ‘‘ and the teeth of my comb are
not so wide apart as to let slip through a four-thou-
sand-foot peak.”

“ Strange, strange,” the Ancient Mariner would then
mutter, half to his cogitating soul, half aloud to the
treasure-seekers. Then, with a sudden brightening,
he would add:

“But of course the variation has changed, Captain
‘Doane. Have you allowed for the change in variation
for half a century? That should make a grave differ-
ence. Why, as I understand it, who am no navigator,
the variation was not so definitely and accurately known
in those days as now.’

“ Latitude was latitude, and longitude was longi-
tude,” would be the captain’ s retort. ‘‘ Variation and
deviation are used in setting courses and estimating
dead reckoning.”

All of which was Greek to Simon Nishikanta, who
would promptly take the Ancient Mariner’s side of the
discussion.

But the Ancient Mariner was fair-minded. What
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 93

advantage he gave the Jew one moment, he balanced
the next moment with an advantage to the skipper.

‘“Tt’s a pity,” he would suggest to Captain Doane,
“that you have only one chronometer. The entire
fault may be with the chronometer. Why did you
sail with only one chronometer? ”’

“ But I was willing for two,” the Jew would defend.
“You know that, Grimshaw?”

The wheat farmer would nod reluctantly and Cap-
tain would snap:

“ But not for three chronometers.”

“ But if two was no better than one, as you said so
yourself and as Grimshaw will bear witness, then three
was no better than two except for an expense.”

“But if you only have two chronometers, how can
you tell which has gone wrong?” Captain Doane
would demand.

“Search me,” would come the pawnbroker’s retort,
accompanied by an incredulous shrug of the shoulders.
“Tf you can’t tell which is wrong of two, then how
much harder must it be to tell which is wrong of two
dozen? With only two, it’s a fifty-fifty split that one
or the other is wrong.”

“But don’t you realise —’

“T realise that it’s all a great foolishness, all this
highbrow stuff about navigation. I’ve got clerks four-
teen years old in my offices that can figure circles all
around you and your navigation. Ask them that if
two chronometers ain’t better than one, then how can
two thousand be better than one? And they’d answer
quick, snap, like that, that if two dollars ain’t any better
than one dollar, then two thousand dollars ain’t any
better than one dollar. That’s common sense.”

“* Just the same you’re wrong on general principle,”

’
94 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Grimshaw would oar in. ‘“‘I said at the time that the
only reason we took Captain Doane in with us on the
deal was because we needed a navigator and because
you and me didn’t know the first thing about it. You
said, ‘ Yes, sure’; and right away knew more about it
than him when you wouldn’t stand for buying three
chronometers. What was the matter with you was
that the expense hurt you. That’s about as big an
idea as your mind ever had room for. You go around
looking for to dig out ten million dollars with a second-
hand spade you can buy for sixty-eight cents.”

Dag Daughtry could not fail to overhear some of
these conversations, which were altercations rather
than councils. The invariable ending, for Simon
Nishikanta, would be what sailors name ‘the sea-
grouch.” For hours afterward the sulky Jew would
speak to no one nor acknowledge speech from any one.
Vainly striving to paint, he would suddenly burst into
violent rage, tear up his attempt, stamp it into the deck,
then get out his large-calibred automatic rifle, percn
himself on the forecastle-head, and try to shoot any
stray porpoise, albacore, or dolphin. It seemed to give
him great relief to send a bullet home into the body of
some surging, gorgeous-hued fish, arrest its glorious
flashing motion forever, and turn it on its side slowly to
sink down into the death and depth of the sea.

On occasion, when a school of blackfish disported by,
each one of them a whale of respectable size, Nishi-
kanta would be beside himself in the ecstasy of inflict-
ing pain. Out of the school perhaps he would reach
a score of the leviathans, his bullets biting into them
like whiplashes, so that each, like a colt surprised by
the stock-whip, would leap in the air, or with a flirt of
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 95

tail dive under the surface, and then charge madly
across the ocean and away from sight in a foam-churn
of speed.

The Ancient Mariner would shake his head sadly;
and Daughtry, who likewise was hurt by the infliction
of hurt on unoffending animals, would sympathise with
him and fetch him unbidden another of the expensive
three-for-a-dollar cigars so that his feelings might be
soothed. Grimshaw would curl his lip in a sneer and
mutter: ‘‘ The cheap skate. The skunk. No man
with half the backbone of a man would take it out of
the harmless creatures. He’s that kind that if he
didn’t like you, or if you criticised his grammar or
arithmetic, he’d kick your dog to get even... or
poison it. In the good old days up in Colusa we used
to hang men like him just to keep the air we breathed
clean and wholesome.”

But it was Captain Doane who protested outright.

‘“‘ Look at here, Nishikanta,” he would say, his face
white and his lips trembling with anger. ‘‘ That’s
rough stuff, and all you can get back for it is rough
stuff. I know what I’m talking about. You've got no
right to risk our lives that way. Wasn’t the pilot boat
Annie Mine sunk by a whale right in the Golden Gate?
Didn’t I sail in as a youngster, second mate on the brig
Berncastle, into Hakodate, pumping double watches to
keep afloat just because a whale took a smash at us?
Didn’t the full-rigged ship, the whaler Essex, sink off
the west coast of South America, twelve hundred miles
from the nearest land for the small boats to cover, and
all because of a big cow whale that butted her into
kindling wood?”

And Simon Nishikanta, in his grouch, disdaining to
96 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

reply, would continue to pepper the last whale into
flight beyond the circle of the sea their vision com-
manded.

‘“‘T remember the whaleship Essex,” the Ancient
Mariner told Dag Daughtry. ‘‘It was a cow with a
calf that did for her. Her barrels were two-thirds
full, too. She went down in less than an hour. One
of the boats never was heard of.”

‘* And didn’t another one of her boats get to Hawaii,
sir?” Daughtry queried with all due humility of re-
spect. ‘‘ Leastwise, thirty years ago, when I was in
Honolulu, I met a man, an old geezer, who claimed
he'd been a harpooner on a whaleship sunk by a whale
off the coast of South America. That was the first
and last I heard of it, until right now you speaking of
it, sir. It must a-been the same ship, sir, don’t you
think?”

‘“* Unless two different ships were whale-sunk off the
West Coast,” the Ancient Mariner replied. ‘ And of
the one ship, the Essex, there is no discussion. It is
historical. The chance is likely, Steward, that the man
you mentioned was from the Essex.”
CHAPTER XIII

APTAIN DOANE worked hard, pursuing the
sun in its daily course through the sky, by the
equation of time correcting its aberrations due to the
earth’s swinging around the great circle of its orbit,
and charting Sumner Lines innumerable, working as-
sumed latitudes for position until his head grew dizzy.
Simon Nishikanta sneered openly at what he consid-
ered the captain’s inefficient navigation and continued
to paint water colours when he was serene, and to
shoot at whales, sea-birds, and all things hurtable when
he was down-hearted and sea-sore with disappointment
at not sighting the Lion’s Head peak of the Ancient
Mariner’s treasure island.

“Tl show I ain’t a pincher,” Nishikanta announced
one day, after having broiled at the mast-head for five
hours of sea searching. ‘‘ Captain Doane, how much
could we have bought extra chronometers for in San
Francisco — good second-hand ones, I mean?”

“Say a hundred dollars,” the captain answered.

“Very well. And this ain’t a piker’s proposition.
The cost of such a chronometer would have been di-
vided between the three of us. I stand for its total
cost. You just tell the sailors that I, Simon Nishi-
kanta, will pay one hundred dollars gold money for the
first one that sights land on Mr. Greenleaf’s latitude
and longitude.”

But the sailors who swarmed the mast-heads were
doomed to disappointment, in that for only two days

97
98 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

did they have opportunity to stare the ocean surface
for the reward. Nor was this due entirely to Dag
Daughtry, despite the fact that his own intention and
act would have been sufficient to spoil their chance for
longer staring.

Down in the lazarette, under the main-cabin floor, it
chanced that he took toll of the cases of beer which had
been shipped for his especial benefit. He counted the
cases, doubted the verdict of his senses, lighted more
matches, counted again, then vainly searched the entire
lazarette in the hope of finding more cases of beer
stored elsewhere.

He sat down under the trapdoor of the main-cabin
floor and thought for a solid hour. It was the Jew
again, he concluded — the Jew who had been willing
to equip the Mary Turner with two chronometers, but
not with three; the Jew, who had ratified the agreement
of a sufficient supply to permit Daughtry his daily six
quarts. Once again the steward counted the cases to
make sure. There were three. And since each case
contained two dozen quarts, and since his whack each
day was half a dozen quarts, it was patent the supply
that stared him in the face would last him only
twelve days. And twelve days were none too long to
sail from this unidentifiable naked sea-stretch to the
nearest possible port where beer could be purchased.

The steward, once his mind was made up, wasted no
time. The clock marked a quarter before twelve
when he climbed up out of the lazarette, replaced the
trapdoor, and hurried to set the table. He served
the company through the noon meal, although it was
all he could do to refrain from capsizing the big tureen
of split-pea soup over the head of Simon Nishikanta.
What did effectually withstrain him was the knowledge
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 99

of the act which, in the lazarette, he had already deter-
mined to perform that afternoon down in the main-
hold where the water casks were stored.

At three o'clock, while the Ancient Mariner sup-
posedly drowsed in his room, and while Captain Doane,
Grimshaw, and half the watch on deck clustered at the
mast-heads to try and raise the Lion’s Head from out
the sapphire sea, Dag Daughtry dropped down the
ladder of the open hatchway into the main hold.
Here, in long tiers, with alleyways between, the water-
casks were chocked safely on their sides.

From inside his shirt the steward drew a brace, and
to it fitted a half-inch bit from his hip pocket. On his
knees, he bored through the head of the first cask until
the water rushed out upon the deck and flowed down
into the bilge. He worked quickly, boring cask after
cask down the alleyway that led to deeper twilight.
When he had reached the end of the first row of casks
he paused a moment to listen to the gurglings of the
many half-inch streams running to waste. His quick
ears caught a similar gurgling from the right in the
direction of the next alleyway. Listening closely, he
could have sworn he heard the sounds of a bit biting
into hard wood.

A minute later, his own brace and bit carefully
secreted, his hand was descending on the shoulder of a
man he could not recognise in the gloom, but who, on
his knees and wheezing, was steadily boring into the
head of a cask. The culprit made no effort to escape,
and when Daughtry struck a match he gazed down into
the upturned face of the Ancient Mariner.

“My word!” the steward muttered his amazement
softly. ‘What in hell are you running water out
for?”
too MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

He could feel the old man’s form trembling with
violent nervousness, and his own heart smote him for
gentleness.

“Tt’s all right,” he whispered. ‘‘ Don’t mind me.
How many have you bored?”

‘All in this tier,’ came the whispered answer.
“ You will not inform on me to the . . . the others?”

“Inform?” Daughtry laughed softly. ‘I don’t
mind telling you that we’re playing the same game,
though I don’t know why you should play it. I’ve
just finished boring all of the starboard row. Now I
tell you, sir, you skin out right now, quietly, while the
goin’ is good. Everybody’s aloft, and you won’t be
noticed. I'll go ahead and finish this job... all
but enough water to last us say a dozen days.”

“I should like to talk with you . . . to explain mat-
ters,” the Ancient Mariner whispered.

“Sure, sir, an’ I don’t mind sayin’, sir, that I’m just
plain mad curious to hear. [ll join you down in the
cabin, say in ten minutes, and-we can have a real gam.
But anyway, whatever your game is, I’m with you.
Because it happens to be my game to get quick into
port, and because, sir, I have a great liking and re-
spect for you. Now shoot along. I'll be with you
inside ten minutes.”

“ T like you, steward, very much,” the old man quayv-
ered.

“ And I like you, sir — and a damn sight more than
them money-sharks aft. But we'll just postpone this.
You beat it out of here, while I finish scuppering the
rest of the water.”

A quarter of an hour later, with the three money-
sharks still at the mast-heads, Charles Stough Green-
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY tor

leaf was seated in the cabin and sipping a highball, and
Dag Daughtry was standing across the table from him,
drinking directly from a quart bottle of beer.

‘“* Maybe you haven’t guessed it,” the Ancient Mes
ner said; ‘‘but this is my fourth voyage after this
treasure.”

“You mean... ?” Daughtry asked.

“Just that. There isn’t any treasure. There
never was one — any more than the Lion’s Head, the
longboat, or the bearings unnamable.”

Daughtry rumpled his grizzled thatch of hair in his
perplexity, as he admitted:

“Well, you got me, sir. You sure got me to be-
lievin’ in that treasure.”

“* And I acknowledge, Steward, that I am pleased to
hear it. It shows that I have not lost my cunning when
I can deceive a man like you. It is easy to deceive men
whose souls know only money. But you are different.
You don’t live and breathe for money. I’ve watched
you with your dog. I’ve watched you with your nigger
boy. I’ve watched you with your beer. And just be-
cause your heart isn’t set on a great buried treasure of
gold, you are harder to deceive. Those whose hearts
are set, are most astonishingly easy to fool. They are
of cheap kidney. Offer them a proposition of one
hundred dollars for one, and they are like hungry pike
snapping at the bait. Offer a thousand dollars for one,
or ten thousand for one, and they become sheer lunatic.
I am an old man, a very old man. I like to live until
I die —I mean, to live decently, comfortably, respect-
ably.”

““ And you like the voyages long? I begin to see,
sir. Just as they’re getting near to where the treasure
102 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY.

ain’t, a little accident like the loss of their water supply
sends them into port and out again to start hunting all
over.”

The Ancient Mariner nodded, and his sun-washed
eyes twinkled.

“There was the Emma Louisa. I kept her on the
long voyage over eighteen months with water accidents
and similar accidents. And, besides, they kept me in
one of the best hotels in New Orleans for over four
months before the voyage began, and advanced to me
handsomely, yes, bravely handsomely.”

‘“‘ But tell me more, sir; I am most interested,’ Dag
Daughtry concluded his simple matter of the beer.
“It’s a good game. I might learn it for my old age,
though I give you my word, sir, I won’t butt in on your
game. I wouldn’t tackle it until you are gone, sir,
good game that it is.”

“ First of all, you must pick out men with money —
with plenty of money, so that any loss will not hurt
them. Also, they are easier to interest —

““ Because they are more hoggish,” the steward in-
terrupted. ‘‘ The more money they’ve got, the more
they want.”

‘“ Precisely,” the Ancient Mariner continued. ‘ And
at least they are repaid. Such sea voyages are excel-
lent for their health. After all, I do them neither
hurt nor harm, but only good, and add to their health.”

‘“ But them scars — that gouge out of your face, all
them fingers missing on your hand? You never got
them in the fight in the longboat when the bo’s’n carved
you up. Then where in Sam Hill did you get them?
— Wait a minute, sir. Let me fill your glass first.”

And with a fresh-brimmed glass, Charles Stough
Greenleaf narrated the history of his scars.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 103

“ First, you must know, Steward, that I am, well, a
gentleman. My name has its place in the pages of the
history of the United States, even back before the time
when they were the United States. I graduated sec-
ond in my class in a university that it is not necessary to
name. For that matter, the name I am known by is
not my name. I carefully compounded it out of names
of other families. J have had misfortunes. I trod
the quarterdeck when I was a young man, though never
the deck of the Wide Awake, which is the ship of my
fancy — and of my livelihood in these latter days.

“The scars you asked about, and the missing fin-
gers? Thus it chanced: It was the morning, at late
getting-up time, in a Pullman, when the accident hap-
pened. ‘The car being crowded, I had been forced to
accept an upper berth. It was only the other day. A
few years ago. I was an old man then. We were
coming up from Florida. It was a collision on a high
trestle. The train crumpled up, and some of the cars
fell over sideways and fell off, ninety feet, into the
bottom of a dry creek. It was dry, though there was
a pool of water just ten feet in diameter and eighteen
inches deep. All the rest was dry boulders, and I
bull’s-eyed that pool.

“ This is the way it was: I had just got on my shoes
and pants and shirt, and had started to get out of the
bunk. There I was, sitting on the edge of the bunk,
my legs dangling down, when the locomotives came to-
gether. The berths, upper and lower, on the opposite
side had already been made up by the porter.

“ And there I was, sitting, legs dangling, not know-
ing where I was, on a trestle or a flat, when the thing
happened. I just naturally left that upper berth,
soared like a bird across the aisle, went through the
104 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

glass of the window on the opposite side clean head-
first, turned over and over through the ninety feet of
fall more times than I like to remember, and by some
sort of miracle was mostly flat-out in the air when I
bull’s-eyed that pool of water. It was only eighteen
inches deep. But J hit it flat, and I hit it so hard that
it must have cushioned me. I was the only survivor of
my car. It struck forty feet away from me, off to the
side. And they took only the dead out of it. When
they took me out of the pool I wasn’t dead by any
means. And when the surgeons got done with me,
there were the fingers gone from my hand, that scar
down the side of my face . . . and, though you’d never
guess it, I’ve been three ribs short of the regular com-
plement ever since.

‘Oh, I had no complaint coming. Think of the
others in that car —all dead. Unfortunately, I was
riding on a pass, and so could not sue the railroad
company. But here am, the only man who ever dived
ninety feet into eighteen inches of water and lived to
tell the tale—— Steward, if you don’t mind replenish-
ing my glass. . . .”

Dag Daughtry complied and in his excitement of
interest pulled off the top of another quart of beer
for himself. ;

“Go on, go on, sir,” he murmured huskily, wiping
his lips, “and the treasure-hunting graft. I am
straight dying to hear. Sir, I salute you.”

“I may say, Steward,” the Ancient Mariner re-
sumed, “that I was born with a silver spoon that
melted in my mouth and left me a proper prodigal son.
Also, that I was born with back-bone of pride that
would not melt. Not for a paltry railroad accident,
but for things long before as well as after, my family
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 105

let me die, andI . . . [let it live. That is the story.
I let my family live. Furthermore, it was not my
family’s fault. I never whimpered. I never let on.
I melted the last of my silver spoon — South Sea cot-
ton, an’ it please you, cacao in Tonga, rubber and
mahogany in Yucatan. And do you know, at the end,
I slept in Bowery lodging houses and ate scrapple in
East Side feeding dens, and, on more than one occasion,
stood in the bread-line at midnight and pondered
whether or not I should faint before I fed.”

“And you never squealed to your family,” Dag
Daughtry murmured admiringly in the pause.

The Ancient Mariner straightened up his shoulders,
threw his head back, then bowed it and repeated, ‘‘ No,
I never squealed. I went into the poor house, or the
county poor farm as they call it. I lived sordidly. I
lived like a beast. For six months I lived like a beast,
and then I saw my way out. I set about building the
Wide Awake. I built her plank by plank, and copper-
fastened her, selected her masts and every timber of
her, and personally signed on her full ship’s comple-
ment fore-and-aft, and outfitted her amongst the Jews,
and sailed with her to the South Seas and the treasure
buried a fathom under the sand.

** You see,” he explained, “‘ all this I did in my mind,
for all the time I was a hostage in the poor farm of
broken men.”

The Ancient Mariner’s face grew suddenly bleak and
fierce, and his right hand flashed out to Daughtry’s
wrist, prisoning it in withered fingers of steel.

“It was a long, hard way to get out of the poor
farm and finance my miserable little, pitiful little, ad-
venture of the Wide Awake. Do you know that I
worked in the poor farm laundry for two years, for
106 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

one dollar and a half a week, with my one available
hand and what little I could do with the other sorting
dirty clothes and folding sheets and pillowslips until I
thought a thousand times my poor old back would break
in two, and until I knew a million times the location in
my chest of every fraction of an inch of my missing
cibs.

“You are a young man yet —”

Daughtry: grinned denial as he rubbed his grizzled
mat of hair.

“You are a young man yet, Steward,” the Ancient
Mariner insisted with a show of irritation. ‘‘ You
have never been shut out from life. In the poor farm
one is shut out from life. There is no respect — no,
not for age alone, but for human life in the poor house.
How shall I say it? One is not dead. Nor is one
alive. One is what once was alive and is in process of
becoming dead. Lepers are treated that way. So
are the insane. I knowit. When I was young and on
the sea, a brother lieutenant went mad. Sometimes he
was violent, and we struggled with him, twisting his
arms, bruising his flesh, tying him helpless while we sat
and panted on him that he might not do harm to us,
himself, or the ship. And he, who still lived, died to
us. Don’t you understand? He was no longer of us,
like us. He was something other. That is it — other.
And so, in the poor farm, we, who are yet unburied, are
other. You have heard me chatter about the hell of
the longboat. That is a pleasant diversion in life
compared with the poor farm. The food, the filth,
the abuse, the bullying, the — the sheer animalness of
it.

“For two years I worked for a dollar and a half a
week in the laundry. And imagine me, who had
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 107

melted a silver spoon in my mouth —a sizable silver
spoon, Steward — imagine me, my sore old bones, my
old belly reminiscent of youth’s delights, my old palate
ticklish yet and not all withered of the deviltries of |
taste learned in younger days—as I say, Steward,
imagine me, who had ever been free-handed, lavish,
saving that dollar and a half intact like a miser, never
spending a penny of it on tobacco, never mitigating by
purchase of any little delicacy the sad condition of my
stomach that protested against the harshness and in-
digestibility of our poor fare. I cadged tobacco, poor
cheap tobacco, from poor doddering old chaps trem-
bling on the edge of dissolution. Ay, and when Sam-
uel Merrivale I found dead in the morning, next cot to
mine, I first rummaged his. poor old trousers’ pocket
for the half plug of tobacco I knew was the total estate
he left, then announced the news.

“Oh, Steward, I was careful of that dollar and a
half. Don’t you see?— I was a prisoner sawing my
way out with a tiny steel saw. And I sawed out!”’
His voice rose ina shrill cackle of triumph. ‘“‘ Steward,
I sawed out!”

Dag Daughtry held forth and up his beer bottle as
he said gravely and sincerely:

‘Sir, I salute you.”

“ And I thank you, sir — you understand,” the An-
cient Mariner replied with simple dignity to the toast,
touching his glass to the bottle and drinking with the
steward eyes to eyes.

“‘T should have had one hundred and fifty-six dol-
lars when I left the poor farm,” the ancient one con-
tinued. “‘ But there were the two weeks I lost with
influenza, and the one week from a confounded pleurisy,
so that I emerged from that place of the living dead
108 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY
with but one hundred and fifty-one dollars and fifty

cents.”

“T see, sir,’ Daughtry interrupted with honest ad-
miration. ‘ The tiny saw had become a crowbar, and
with it you were going back to break into life again.”

All the scarred face and washed eyes of Charles
Stough Greenleaf beamed as he held his glass up.

“Steward, I salute you. You understand. And
you have said it well. I was going back to break into
the house of life. It was a crowbar, that pitiful
sum of money accumulated by two years of crucifixion.
Think of it! A sum that in the days ere the silver
spoon had melted, I staked in careless moods of an
instant on a turn of the cards. But as you say, a bur-
glar, I came back to break into life, and I came to Bos-
ton. You have a fine turn for a figure of speech,
Steward, and I salute you.”

Again bottle and glass tinkled together, and both
men drank eyes to eyes and each was aware that the
eyes he gazed into were honest and understanding.

“ But it was a thin crow-bar, Steward. I dared not
put my weight on it for a proper pry. I took a room
in a small but respectable hotel, European plan. It
was in Boston, I think I said. Oh, how careful I was
of my crowbar. I scarcely ate enough to keep my
frame inhabited. But I bought drinks for others, most
carefully selected — bought drinks with an air of pros-
perity that was as a credential to my story; and in my
cups (my apparent cups, Steward), spun an old man’s
yarn of the Wide Awake, the longboat, the bearings
unnamable, and the treasure under the sand— A
fathom under the sand; that was literary; it was psy-
chological; it smacked of the salt sea, and daring
rovers, and the loot of the Spanish Main.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 109

“You have noticed this nugget I wear on my watch
chain, Steward! I could not afford it at that time, but
I talked golden instead, California gold, nuggets and
nuggets, oodles and oodles, from the diggings of ’forty-
nine and fifty. That was literary. ‘That was colour.
Later, after my first voyage out of Boston I was finan-
cially able to buy a nugget. It was so much bait to
which men rose like fishes. And like fishes they nib-
bled. These rings also— bait. You never see such
rings now. After I got in funds, I purchased them,
too. Take this nugget: Iam talking. I toy with it
absently as I am telling of the great gold treasure we
buried under the sand. Suddenly the nugget flashes
fresh recollection into my mind. I speak of the long-
boat, of our thirst and hunger, and of the third officer,
the fair lad with cheeks virgin of the razor, and that
he it was who used it as a sinker when we strove to
catch fish.

‘But back in Boston. Yarns and yarns, when seem-
ingly I was gone in drink, I told my apparent cronies —
men whom I despised, stupid dolts of creatures that
they were. But the word spread, until one day, a young
man, a reporter, tried to interview me about the treas-
ure and the Wide Awake. I was indignant, angry —
Oh, softly, Steward, softly; in my heart was great joy
as I denied that young reporter, knowing that from my
cronies he already had a sufficiency of the details.

‘““ And the morning paper gave two whole columns
and headlines to the tale. I began to have callers. I
studied them out well. Many were for adventuring
after the treasure who themselves had no money. I
baffled and avoided them, and waited on, eating even
less as my little capital dwindled away.

‘And then he came, my gay young doctor — doctor
110 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

of philosophy he was, for he was very wealthy. My
heart sang when I saw him. But twenty-eight dollars
remained to me — after it was gone, the poor house,
or death. I had already resolved upon death as my
choice rather than go back to be of that dolorous com-
pany, the living dead of the poor farm. But I did not
go back, nor didI die. ‘The gay young doctor’s blood
ran warm at the thought of the South Seas, and in his
nostrils I distilled all the scents of the flower-drenched
air of that far-off land, and in his eyes I builded him
the fairy visions of the tradewind clouds, the monsoon
skies, the palm isles and the coral seas.

“He was a gay mad young dog, grandly careless of
his largess, fearless as a lion’s whelp, lithe and beauti-
ful as a leopard, and mad, a trifle mad of the deviltries
and whimsies that tickled in that fine brain of his.
Look you, Steward. Before we sailed in the Gloucester
fishing schooner, purchased by the doctor and that was
like a yacht and showed her heels to most yachts, he
had me to his house to advise about personal equip-
ment. We were overhauling in a gear-room, when
suddenly he spoke:

““* T wonder how my lady will take my long absence.
What say you? Shall she go along?’

“* And I had not known that he had any wife or lady.
_ And I looked my surprise and incredulity.

“* Just that you do not believe I shall take her on
the cruise,’ he laughed, wickedly, madly, in my aston-
ished face. ‘Come, you shall meet her.’

“ Straight to his bedroom and his bed he led me,
and, turning down the covers, showed there to me,
asleep, as she had slept for many a thousand years, the
mummy of a slender Egyptian maid.

‘“ And she sailed with us on the long vain voyage to
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 111

the South Seas and back again, and, Steward, on my
honour, I grew quite fond of the dear maid myself.”

The Ancient Mariner gazed dreamily into his glass,
and Dag Daughtry took advantage of the pause to
ask:

‘But the young doctor? How did he take the fail-
ure to find the treasure?”

The Ancient Mariner’s face lighted with joy.

“He called me a delectable old fraud, with his arm
on my shoulder while he did it. Why, Steward, I had
come to love that young man like a splendid son. And
with his arm on my shoulder, and I know there was
more than mere kindness in it, he told me we had barely
reached the River Platte when he discovered me.
With laughter, and with more than one slap of his hand
on my shoulder that was more caress than jollity, he
pointed out the discrepancies in my tale (which I have
since amended, Steward, thanks to him, and amended
well) and told me that the voyage had been a grand
success, making him eternally my debtor.

“What could I do? I told him the truth. To him
even did I tell my family name and the shame I had
saved it from by foreswearing it.

‘ He put his arm on my shoulder, I tell you, and —”

The Ancient Mariner ceased talking because of a
huskiness in his throat, and a moisture from his eyes
trickled down both cheeks.

Dag Daughtry pledged him silently, and in the
draught from his glass the old man recovered himself.

“He told me that I should come and live with him,
and to his great lonely house he took me the very day
we landed in Boston. Also, he told me he would make
arrangements with his lawyers — the idea tickled his
fancy —‘I shall adopt you,’ he said. ‘I shall adopt
112 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

you along with Isthar ’— Isthar was the little maid’s
name, the little mummy’s name.

““ Here I was, back in life, Steward, and legally to
be adopted. But life is a fond betrayer. Eighteen
hours afterward, in the morning, we found him dead in
his bed, the little mummy maid beside him. Heart-
failure, the burst of some blood-vessel in the brain — I
never learned.

“I prayed and pleaded with them for the pair to be
buried together. But they were a hard, cold, New
England lot, his cousins and his aunts, and they pre-
sented Isthar to the museum, and me they gave a week
to be quit of the house. I left in an hour, and they
searched my small baggage before they would let me
depart.

“‘T went to New York. It was the same game there,
only that I had more money and could play it properly.
It was the same in New Orleans, in Galveston. I came
to California. This is my fifth voyage. I had a hard
time getting these three interested, and spent all my lit-
tle store of money before they signed the agreement.
They were very mean. Advance any money to me!
The very idea of it was preposterous. Though I bided
my time, ran up a comfortable hotel bill, and, at the
very last, ordered my own generous assortment of
liquors and cigars and charged the bill to the schooner.
Such a to-do. All three of them raged and all but tore
their hair . . . and mine. They said it could not be.
I fell promptly sick. I told them they got on my
nerves and made me sick. The more they raged the
sicker I got. Then they gave in. As promptly I grew
better. And here we are, out of water and heading
soon most likely for the Marquesas to fill our barrels.
Then they will return and try for it again.”
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 113

“You think so, sir?”

‘* T shall remember even more important data, Stew-
ard,” the Ancient Mariner smiled. ‘‘ Without doubt
they will return. Oh, I know them well. They are
meagre, narrow, grasping fools.”

“Fools! all fools! a ship of fools!” Dag Daughtry
exulted; repeating what he had expressed in the hold,
as he bored the last barrel, listened to the good water
gurgling away into the bilge, and chuckled over his dis-
covery of the Ancient Mariner on the same lay as his
own.
CHAPTER XIV

ARLY next morning, the morning watch of sailors,
whose custom was to fetch the day’s supply of
water for the galley and cabin, discovered that the
barrels were empty. Mr. Jackson was so alarmed
that he immediately called Captain Doane, and not
many minutes elapsed ere Captain Doane had routed
out Grimshaw and Nishikanta to tell them the disaster.
Breakfast was an excitement shared in peculiarly by
the Ancient Mariner and Dag Daughtry, while the trio
of partners raged and bewailed. Captain Doane par-
ticularly wailed. Simon Nishikanta was fiendish in his
descriptions of whatever miscreant had done the deed
and of how he should be made to suffer for it, while
Grimshaw clenched and repeatedly clenched his great
hands as if throttling some throat.

‘““T remember, it was in ’forty-seven — nay, ’forty-
six — yes, forty-six —” the Ancient Mariner chattered.
“It was a similar and worse predicament. It was in
the longboat, sixteen of us. We ran on Glister Reef.
So named it was after our pretty little craft discovered
it one dark night and left her bones upon it. The reef
is on the admiralty charts. Captain Doane will verify
MES ou"
No one listened, save Dag Daughtry, serving hot
cakes and admiring. But Simon Nishikanta, becoming
suddenly aware that the old man was babbling, bel-
lowed out ferociously:

“Oh, shut up! Close your jaw! You make me
tired with your everlasting ‘I remember.’ ”’

114
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 115

The Ancient Mariner was guilelessly surprised, as if
he had slipped somewhere in his narrative.

“No, I assure you,” he continued, “it must have
been some error of my poor old tongue. It was not the
Wide Awake, but the brig Glister. Did I say Wide
Awake? It was the Glister, a smart little brig, almost
a toy brig in fact, copper-bottomed, lines like a dolphin,
a sea-cutter and a wind-eater. Handled like a top.
On my honour, gentlemen, it was lively work for both
watches when she went about. Iwas supercargo. We
sailed out of New York, ostensibly for the Northwest
Coast, with sealed orders —”

‘In the name of God, peace, peace! You drive me
mad with your drivel!’’ So, Nishikanta cried out in
nervous pain that was real and quivering. ‘‘ Old man,
have a heart. What do I care to know of your Glister
and your sealed orders! ”’

“ Ah, sealed orders,” the Ancient Mariner went on
beamingly. ‘‘ A magic phrase, sealed orders.” He
rolled it off his tongue with unction. ‘‘ Those were
the days, gentlemen, when ships did sail with sealed
orders. And as supercargo, with my trifle invested in
the adventure and my share in the gains, I commanded
the captain. Not in him, but in me were reposed the
sealed orders. I assure you I did not know myself
what they were. Not until we were around old Cape
Stiff, fifty to fifty, and in fifty in the Pacific, did I break
the seal and learn we were bound for Van Dieman’s
Land. They called it Van Dieman’s Land in those
days —”’

It was a day of discoveries. Captain Doane caught
the mate stealing the ship’s position from his desk with
the duplicate key. There was a scene, but no more,
for the Finn was too huge a man to invite personal en-
116 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

counter, and Captain Doane could only stigmatise his
conduct to a running reiteration of “ Yes, sir,” and
“No, sir,” and “ Sorry, sir.”

Perhaps the most important discovery, although he
did not know it at the time, was that of Dag Daughtry.
It was after the course had been changed and all sail
set, and after the Ancient Mariner had privily informed
him that Taiohae, in the Marquesas, was their objec-
tive, that Daughtry gaily proceeded to shave. But one
trouble was on his mind. He was not quite sure, in
such an out-of-the-way place as Taiohae, that good beer
could be procured.

As he prepared to make the first stroke of the razor,
most of his face white with lather, he noticed a dark
patch of skin on his forehead, just between the eye-
brows and above. When he had finished shaving, he
touched the dark patch, wondering how he had been
sunburned in such a spot. But he did not know he had
touched it insofar as there was any response of sensa-
tion. The dark place was numb.

“Curious,” he thought, wiped his face, and forgot
all about it.

No more than he knew what horror that dark spot
represented, did he know that Ah Moy’s slant eyes had
long since noticed it and were continuing to notice it,
day by day, with secret growing terror.

Close-hauled on the Southeast trades, the Mary Tur-
ner began her long slant toward the Marquesas. For-

’ard, all were happy. Being only seamen, on seamen’s
wages, they hailed with delight the news that they were
bound in for a tropic isle to fill their water-barrels.
Aft, the three partners were in bad temper, and Nishi-
kanta openly sneered at Captain Doane and doubted
his ability to find the Marquesas. In the steerage
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 117

everybody was happy — Dag Daughtry because his
wages were running on and a further supply of beer was
certain; Kwaque because he was happy whenever his
master was happy; and Ah Moy because he would soon
have opportunity to desert away from the schooner and
the two lepers with whom he was domiciled.

Michael shared in the general happiness of the steer-
age, and joined eagerly with Steward in learning by
heart a fifth song. This was ‘“‘ Lead, Kindly Light.”
In his singing, which was no more than trained howling
after all, Michael sought for something he knew not
what. In truth, it was the lost pack, the pack of the
primeval world before the dog ever came in to the fires
of men, and, for that matter, before men built fires and
before men were men.

He had been born only the other day and had lived
but two years in the world, so that, of himself, he had
no knowledge of the lost pack. For many thousands
of generations he had been away from it; yet, deep
down in the crypts of being, tied about and wrapped up
in every muscle and nerve of him, was the indelible
record of the days in the wild when dim ancestors had
run with the pack and at the same time developed the
pack and themselves. When Michael was asleep, then
it was that pack-memories sometimes arose to the sur-
face of his sub-conscious mind. ‘These dreams were
real while they lasted, but when he was awake he re-
membered them little if at all. But, asleep, or singing
with Steward, he sensed and yearned for the lost pack
and was impelled to seek the forgotten way to it.

Waking, Michael had another and real pack. This
was composed of Steward, Kwaque, Cocky, and Scraps,
and he ran with it as ancient forebears had run with
their own kind in the hunting. The steerage was the
118 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

lair of this pack, and, out of the steerage, it ranged the
world, which was the Mary Turner ever rocking, heel-
ing, reeling on the surface of the unstable sea.

But the steerage and its company meant more to
Michael than the mere pack. It was heaven as well,
where dwelt God. Man early invented God, often of
stone, or clod, or fire, and placed him in trees and
mountains and among the stars. This was because
man observed that man passed and was lost out of the
tribe, or family, or whatever name he gave to his
group, which was, after all, the human pack. And
man did not want to be lost out of the pack. So, of
his imagination, he devised a new pack that would be
eternal and with which he might forever run. Fearing
the dark, into which he observed all men passed, he
built beyond the dark a fairer region, a happier hunt-
ing ground, a jollier and robuster feasting hall and
wassailing place, and called it variously “‘ heaven.”

Like some of the earliest and lowest of primitive
men, Michael never dreamed of throwing the shadow
of himself across his mind and worshipping it as God.
He did not worship shadows. He worshipped a real
and indubitable god, not fashioned in his own four-
legged, hair-covered image, but in the flesh and blood
image, two-legged, hairless, upstanding, of Steward.
CHAPTER XV

AD the trade wind not failed on the second day
after laying the course for the Marquesas; had
Captain Doane, at the midday meal, not grumbled
once again at being equipped with only one chro-
nometer; had Simon Nishikanta not become viciously
angry thereat and gone on deck with his rifle to find
some sea-denizen to slay; and had the sea-denizen that
appeared close alongside been a bonita, a dolphin, a
porpoise, an albacore, or anything else than a great
eighty-foot cow whale accompanied by her nursing calf
— had any link been missing from this chain of events,
the Mary Turner would have undoubtedly reached the
Marquesas, filled her water barrels, and returned to
the treasure-hunting; and the destinies of Michael,
Daughtry, Kwaque and Cocky would have been quite
different and possibly less terrible.

But every link was present for the occasion. The
schooner, in a dead calm, was rolling over the huge,
smooth seas, her boom sheets and tackles crashing to
the hollow thunder of her great sails, when Simon
Nishikanta put a bullet into the body of the little whale
calf. By an almost miracle of chance, the shot killed
the calf. It was equivalent to killing an elephant with
a pea rifle. Not at once did the calf die. It merely
immediately ceased its gambols and for a while lay
quivering on the surface of the ocean. The mother
was beside it the moment after it was struck, and to

those on board, looking almost directly down upon her,
119
120 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

her dismay and alarm were very patent. She would
nudge the calf with her huge shoulder, circle around
and around it, then range up alongside and repeat her
nudgings and shoulderings.

All on the Mary Turner, fore and aft, lined the rail
and stared apprehensively at the leviathan that was
as long as the schooner.

‘““ If she should do to us, sir, what that other one did
to the Essex,” Dag Daughtry observed to the Ancient
Mariner.

“Tt would be no more than we deserve,” was the
response. “It was uncalled for—a wanton, cruel
act;

Michael, aware of the excitement overside but unable
to see because of the rail, leaped on top of the cabin and
at sight of the monster barked defiantly. Every eye
turned on him in startlement and fear, and Steward
hushed him with a whispered command.

“* This is the last time,’ Grimshaw muttered in a low
voice, tense with anger, to Nishikanta. ‘If ever
again, on this voyage, you take a shot at a whale, I’ll
wring your dirty neck for you. Get me. I mean it.
I'll choke your eye-balls out of you.”

The Jew smiled in a sickly way and whined, ‘“‘ There
ain’t nothing going to happen. I don’t believe that
Essex ever was sunk by a whale.”

Urged on by its mother, the dying calf made spas-
modic efforts to swim that were futile and caused it to
veer and wallow from side to side.

In the course of circling about it, the mother acci-
dentally brushed her shoulder under the port quarter of
the Mary Turner, and the Mary Turner listed to star-
board as her stern was lifted a yard or more. Nor
was this unintentional gentle impact all. The instant
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 121

after her shoulder had touched, startled by the contact,
she flailed out with her tail. The blow smote the rail
just for’ard of the fore-shrouds, splintering a gap
through it as if it were no more than a cigar box and
cracking the covering board.

That was all, and an entire ship’s company stared
down in silence and fear at a sea-monster grief-stricken
over its dying progeny.

Several times, in the course of an hour, during which
the schooner and the two whales drifted farther and
farther apart, the calf strove vainly to swim. ‘Then it
set up a great quivering, which culminated in a wild
wallowing and lashing about of its tail.

“Tt is the death flurry,” said the Ancient Mariner
softly.

‘“‘ By damn, it’s dead,” was Captain Doane’s com-
ment five minutes later. ‘“‘ Who'd believe it? Ai rifle
bullet! I wish to heaven we could get half-an-hour’s
breeze of wind to get us out of their neighbourhood.”

‘* A close squeak,” said Grimshaw.

Captain Doane shook his head, as his anxious eyes
cast aloft to the empty canvas and quested over the
ocean in the hope of wind-ruffles on the water. But all
was glassy calm, each great sea, of all the orderly pro-
cession of great seas, heaving up, round-topped and
mountainous, like so much quicksilver.

“Tt’s all right,” Grimshaw encouraged. ‘‘ There
she goes now, beating it away from us.”

“Of course it’s all right, always was all right,”
Nishikanta bragged, as he wiped the sweat from his
face and neck and looked with the others after the de-
parting whale. ‘‘ You're a fine brave lot, you are, los-
ing your goat to a fish.”

“T noticed your face was less yellow than usual,”
122 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Grimshaw sneered. “It must have gone to your
heart.”

Captain Doane breathed a great sigh. His relief
was too strong to permit him to join in the squabbling.

“ You're yellow,” Grimshaw went on, “ yellow clean
through.” He nodded his head toward the Ancient
Mariner. ‘‘ Now there’s the real thing asaman. No
yellow in him. He never batted an eye, and I reckon
he knew more about the danger than you did. If I was
to choose being wrecked on a desert. island with him
or you, I’d take him a thousand times first. If —”

But a cry from the sailors interrupted him.

“ Merciful God! ’’ Captain Doane breathed aloud.

The great cow whale had turned about, and, on
the surface, was charging straight back at them. Such
was her speed that a bore was raised by her nose like
that which a dreadnought or an Atlantic liner raises
on the sea.

“ Hold fast, all!’ Captain Doane roared.

Every man braced himself for the shock. Henrik
Gjertsen, the sailor at the wheel, spread his legs,
crouched down, and stiffened his shoulders and arms
to hand-grips on opposite spokes of the wheel. Sev-
eral of the crew fled from the waist to the poop, and
others of them sprang into the main-rigging. Daugh-
try, one hand on the rail, with his free arm clasped the
Ancient Mariner around the waist.

All held. The whale struck the Mary Turner just
aft of the fore-shrouds. A score of things, which no
eye could take in simultaneously, happened. A sailor,
in the main rigging, carried away a ratline in both
hands, fell head-downward, and was clutched by an
ankle and saved head-downward by a comrade, as the
schooner cracked and shuddered, uplifted on the port
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 123

side, and was flung down on her starboard side till the
ocean poured level over her rail. Michael, on the
smooth roof of the cabin, slithered down the steep slope
to starboard and disappeared, clawing and snarling,
into the runway. ‘The port shrouds of the foremast
carried away at the chain-plates, and the fore-topmast
leaned over drunkenly to starboard.

““My word,” quoth the Ancient Mariner. ‘“ We
certainly felt that.”

“Mr. Jackson,’ Captain Doane commanded the
mate. “ Will you sound the well.”

The mate obeyed, although he kept an anxious eye
on the whale, which had gone off at a tangent and was
smoking away to the eastward.

“You see, that’s what you get,” Grimshaw snarled
at Nishikanta.

Nishikanta nodded, as he wiped the sweat away and
muttered, ‘‘ And I’m satisfied. I got all I want. I
didn’t think a whale had it init. I'll never do it again.”

““ Maybe you'll never have the chance,” the captain
retorted. ‘‘ We’re not done with this one yet. The
one that charged the Essex, made charge after charge,
and I guess whale nature hasn’t changed any in the
last few years.”

‘““ Dry as a bone, sir,” Mr. Jackson reported the re-
sult of his sounding.

“There she turns!’ Daughtry called out.

Half a mile away, the whale circled about sharply
and charged back.

“Stand from under for’ard there!’ Captain Doane
shouted to one of the sailors who had just emerged
from the forecastle scuttle, sea-bag in hand, and over
whom the fore-topmast was swaying giddily.

‘““He’s packed for the get-away,” Daughtry mur-
124 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

mured to the Ancient Mariner — ‘‘ Like a rat leaving
the ship.”

“We're all rats,” was the reply. ‘“‘I learned just
that when I was a rat among the mangy rats of the
poor farm.”

By this time, all men on board had communicated
to Michael their contagion of excitement and fear.
Back on top the cabin, so that he might see, he snarled
at the cow whale when the men seized fresh grips
against the impending shock and when he saw her close
at hand and oncoming.

The Mary Turner was struck aft of the mizzen-
shrouds. As she was hurled down to starboard,
whither Michael was ignominiously flung, the crack of
shattered timbers was plainly heard. Henrik Gjertsen,
clutching the wheel with all his strength, was spun
through the air as the wheel was spun by the fling of
the rudder. He fetched up against Captain Doane,
whose grip had been torn loose from the rail. Both
men crumpled down on deck with the wind knocked
out of them. Nishikanta leaned cursing against the
side of the cabin, the nails of both hands torn off at
the quick by the breaking of his grip on the rail.

While Daughtry was passing a turn of rope around
the Ancient Mariner and the mizzen rigging and giving
the turn to him to hold, Captain Doane crawled gasping
to the rail and dragged himself erect.

‘That fetched her,” he whispered huskily to the
mate, hand pressed to his side to control his pain.
‘* Sound the well again, and keep on sounding.”

More of the sailors took advantage of the interval
to rush for’ard under the toppling fore-topmast, dive
into the forecastle, and hastily pack their sea-bags. As
Ah Moy emerged from the steerage with his own
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 125

rotund sea-bag, Daughtry despatched Kwaque to pack
the belongings of both of them.

“‘ Dry as a bone, sir,” came the mate’s report.

“Keep on sounding, Mr. Jackson,” the captain or-
dered, his voice already stronger as he recovered from
the shock of his collision with the helmsman. “ Keep
right on sounding. Here she comes again, and the
schooner ain’t built that’d stand such hammering.”

By this time Daughtry had Michael tucked under one
arm, his free arm ready to anticipate the next crash by
swinging onto the rigging.

In making its circle to come back, the cow lost her
bearings sufficiently to miss the stern of the Mary Tur-
ner by twenty feet. Nevertheless, the bore of her dis-
placement lifted the schooner’s stern gently and made
her dip her bow to the sea in a stately curtsey.

“Tf she’d a-hit . . .”’ Captain Doane murmured and
ceased.

“Tt’d a-ben good night,” Daughtry concluded for
him. “ She’d a-knocked our stern clean off of us, sir.”

Again wheeling, this time at no more than two hun-
dred yards, the whale charged back, not completing her
semi-circle sufficiently, so that she bore down upon
the schooner’s bow from starboard. Her back hit the
stem and seemed just barely to scrape the martingale,
yet the Mary Turner sat down till the sea washed level
with her stern-rail. Nor was this all. Martingale,
bob-stays and all parted, as well as all starboard stays
to the bowsprit, so that the bowsprit swung out to port
at right angles and uplifted to the drag of the remain-
ing topmast stays. The topmast anticked high in the
air for a space, then crashed down to deck, permitting
the bowsprit to dip into the sea, go clear with the butt
of it of the forecastle head, and drag alongside.
126 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

“ Shut up that dog!’ Nishikanta ordered Daughtry
savagely. ‘If you don’t —”

Michael, in Steward’s arms, was snarling and growl-
ing intimidatingly, not merely at the cow whale but at
all the hostile and menacing universe that had thrown
panic into the two-legged gods of his floating world.

“* Just for that,’ Daughtry snarled back, “ I'll let ’m
sing. You made this mess, and if you lift a hand to
my dog you'll miss seeing the end of the mess you
started, you dirty pawnbroker, you.”

“ Perfectly right, perfectly right,” the Ancient Mari-
ner nodded approbation. ‘‘ Do you think, Steward,
you could get a width of canvas, or a blanket, or some-
thing soft and broad with which to replace this rope?
It cuts me too sharply in the spot where my three ribs
are missing.”

Daughtry thrust Michael into the old man’s arm.

“Hold him, sir,” the steward said. “If that pawn-
broker makes a move against Killeny Boy, spit in his
face, bite him, anything. I'll be back in a jiffy, sir, be-
fore he can hurt you and before the whale can hit us
again. And let Killeny Boy make all the noise he
wants. One hair of him’s worth more than a world-
ful of skunks of money-lenders.”’

Daughtry dashed into the cabin, came back with a
pillow and three sheets, and, using the first as a pad
and knotting the last together in swift weaver’s knots,
he left the Ancient Mariner safe and soft and took
Michael back into his own arms.

“She's making water, sir,” the mate called. ‘“‘ Six
inches — no, seven inches, sir.”

There was a rush of sailors across the wreckage of
the fore-topmast to the forecastle to pack their bags.

“‘ Swing out that starboard boat, Mr. Jackson,” the
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 127

captain commanded, staring after the foaming course
of the cow as she surged away for a fresh onslaught.
“ But don’t lower it. Hold it overside in the falls, or
that damned fish’ll smash it. Just swing it out, ready
and waiting, let the men get their bags, then stow food
and water aboard of her.”

Lashings were cast off the boat and the falls attached,
when the men fled to holding vantage just ere the whale
arrived. She struck the Mary Turner squarely amid-
ships on the port beam, so that, from the poop, one
saw, as well as heard, her long side bend and spring
back like a limber fabric. The starboard rail buried
under the sea as the schooner heeled to the blow, and, as
she righted with a violent lurch, the water swashed
across the deck to the knees of the sailors about the
boat and spouted out of the port scuppers.

‘““Heave away!’’ Captain Doane ordered from the
poop. “Up with her! Swing her out! Hold your
turns! Make fast!”

The boat was outboard, its gunwale resting against
the Mary Turner’s rail.

‘Ten inches, sir, and making fast,” was the mate’s
information, as he gauged the sounding rod.

“Tm going after my tools,” Captain Doane an-
nounced, as he started for the cabin. Half into the
scuttle, he paused to add with a sneer for Nishikanta’s
benefit, “‘ And for my one chronometer.”

‘““ A foot and a half, and making,” the mate shouted
aft to him.

“We'd better do some packing ourselves,” Grim-
shaw, following on the captain, said to Nishikanta.

“Steward,” Nishikanta said, ‘go below and pack:
my bedding. I'll take care of the rest.”

“‘ Mr. Nishikanta, you can go to hell, sir, and all the
128 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY.

rest as well,” was Daughtry’s quiet response, although
in the same breath he was saying, respectfully and assur-
ingly, to the Ancient Mariner: ‘‘ You hold Killeny,
sir. I'll take care of your dunnage. Is there any-
thing speciai you want to save, sir?”

Jackson joined the four men below, and, as the five
of them, in haste and trepidation, packed -articles of
worth and comfort, the Mary Turner was struck again.
Caught below without warning, all were flung fiercely
to port, and from Simon Nishikanta’s room came wail-
ing curses of announcement of the hurt to his ribs
against his bunk-rail. But this was drowned by a pro-
digious smashing and crashing on deck.

“ Kindling wood — there won't be anything else left
of her,” Captain Doane commented in the ensuing calm,
as he crept gingerly up the companionway with his
chronometer cuddled on an even keel to his breast.

Placing it in the custody of a sailor, he returned
below and was helped up with his sea-chest by the stew-
ard. In turn, he helped the steward up with the An-
cient Mariner’s sea-chest. Next, aided by anxious
sailors, he and Daughtry dropped into the lazarette
through the cabin floor and began breaking out and
passing up a stream of supplies — cases of salmon and
beef, of marmalade and biscuit, of butter and preserved
milk, and of all sorts of the tinned, desiccated, evapo-
rated, and condensed stuff that of modern times goes
down to the sea in ships for the nourishment of men.

Daughtry and the captain emerged last from the
cabin, and both stared upward for a moment at the
gaps in the slender, sky-scraping top-hamper, where,
only minutes before, the main- and mizzen-topmasts had
‘been. A second moment they devoted to the wreckage
of the same on deck—the mizzen-topmast, thrust
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 129

through the spanker and supported vertically by the
stout canvas, thrashing back and forth with each thrash
of the sail, the main-topmast squarely across the ruined
companionway to the steerage.

While the mother-whale, expressing her bereavement
in terms of violence and destruction, was withdrawing
the necessary distance for another charge, all hands of
the Mary Turner gathered about the starboard boat
swung outboard ready for lowering. A respectable hill
of case goods, water kegs, and personal dunnage was
piled on the deck alongside. A glance at this, and at
the many men of fore and aft, demonstrated that it was
to be a perilously overloaded boat.

‘We want the sailors with us, at any rate — they
can row,” said Simon Nishikanta.

‘* But do we want you?” Grimshaw queried gloomily.
“You take up too much room for your size, and you’re
a beast anyway.”

‘*T guess I’ll be wanted,” the pawnbroker observed,
as he jerked open his shirt, tearing out the four buttons
in his impetuousness and showing a Colt’s ’44 auto-
matic, strapped in its holster against the bare skin of
his side under his left arm, the butt of the weapon most
readily accessible to any hasty dip of his right hand.
““T guess I’ll be wanted. But just the same we can dis-
pense with the undesirables.”

“Tf you will have your will,” the wheat-farmer con-
ceded sardonically, although his big hand clenched in-
voluntarily as if throttling a throat. ‘“ Besides, if we
should run short of food you will prove desirable — for
the quantity of you, I mean, and not otherwise. Now
just who would you consider undesirable — the black
nigger? He ain’t got a gun.”

But his pleasantries were cut short by the whale’s next
130 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

attack — another smash at the stern that carried away
the rudder and destroyed the steering gear.

‘“‘ How much water?’ Captain Doane queried of the
mate.

“Three feet, sir —I just sounded,” came the an-
swer. ‘I think, sir, it would be advisable to part-load
the boat; then, right after the next time the whale hits
us, lower away on the run, chuck the rest of the dun-
nage in, and ourselves, and get clear.”

Captain Doane nodded.

““ It will be lively work,” he said. ‘“‘ Stand ready all
of you— Steward, you jump aboard first and [ll
pass the chronometer to you.”

Nishikanta bellicosely shouldered his vast bulk up
to the captain, opened his shirt, and exposed his re-
volver.

“ There’s too many for the boat,” he said, “‘ and the
steward’s one of ’em that don’t go along. Get that.
Hold it in your head. ‘The steward’s one of ’em that
don’t go along.”

Captain Doane coolly surveyed the big automatic,
while at the fore of his consciousness burned a vision
of his flat buildings in San Francisco.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘ The boat would be
overloaded, with all this truck, anyway. Go ahead, if
you want to make it your party, but just bear in mind
that I’m the navigator, and that, if you ever want to
lay eyes on your stririg of pawnshops you'd better see
that gentle care is taken of me— Steward!”

Daughtry stepped close.

“ There won’t be room for you . . . and for one or
two others, I’m sorry to say.”

“Glory be!” said Daughtry. “I was just fearin’
you'd be wantin’ me along, sir— Kwaque, you take

a
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 131

’m my fella dunnage belong me, put ’m in other fella
boat along other side.”

While Kwaque obeyed, the mate sounded the well
for the last time, reporting three feet and a half, and
the lighter freightage of the starboard boat was tossed
in by the sailors.

A rangy, gangly, Scandinavian youth of a sailor,
droop-shouldered, six feet six and slender as a lath,
with pallid eyes of palest blue and skin and hair attuned
to the same colour scheme, joined Kwaque in his work.

“ Here, you Big John,” the mate interfered. ‘“ This
is your boat. You work here.”

The lanky one smiled in embarrassment as he halt-
ingly explained: ‘‘I tank I lak go along cooky.”

“Sure, let him go, the more the easier,” Nishikanta
took charge of the situation. ‘ Anybody else?”

“Sure,” Dag Daughtry sneered to his face. “I
reckon what’s left of the beer goes with my boat. . .
unless you want to argue the matter.”

“For two cents—’” Nishikanta spluttered in af-
fected rage.

“Not for two billion cents would you risk a scrap
with me, you money-sweater, you,” was Daughtry’s re-
tort. ‘‘ You've got their goats, but I’ve got your num-
ber. Not for two billion billion cents would you ex-

cite me into callin’ it right now—— Big John! Just
carry that case of beer across, an’ that half case, and
store in my boat — Nishikanta, just start something,

if you’ve got the nerve.”

Simon Nishikanta did not dare, nor did he know
what to do; but he was saved from his perplexity by
the shout:

“ Here she comes! ”

All rushed to holding ground, and held, while the
132 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

whale broke more timbers and the Mary Turner rolled
sluggishly down and back again.

“Lower away! Onthe run! Lively

Captain Doane’s orders were swiftly obeyed. ‘The
starboard boat, fended off by sailors, rose and fell in
the water alongside, while the remainder of the dun-
nage and provisions showered into her.

“ Might as well lend a hand, sir, seein’ you’re bent
on leaving in such a hurry,” said Daughtry, taking the
chronometer from Captain Doane’s hand and standing
ready to pass it down to him as soon as he was in the
boat.

“Come on, Greenleaf,’ Grimshaw called up to the
Ancient Mariner.

“No, thanking you very kindly, sir,” came the reply.
“T think there’ll be more room in the other boat.”

“We want the cook!” Nishikanta cried out from
the stern sheets. ‘Come on, you yellow monkey!
Jump in!”

Little old shrivelled Ah Moy debated. He visibly
thought, although none knew the intrinsicness of his
thinking as he stared at the gun of the fat pawnbroker
and at the leprosy of Kwaque and Daughtry, and
weighed the one against the other and tossed the light
and heavy loads of the two boats into the balance.

“Me go other boat,” said Ah Moy, starting to drag
his bag away across the deck.

“ Cast off,” Captain Doane commanded.

Scraps, the big Newfoundland puppy, who had played
and pranced about through all the excitement, seeing so
many of the Mary Turner’s humans in the boat along-
side, sprang over the rail, low and close to the water,
and landed sprawling on the mass of sea-bags and
goods cases.

\ ed
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 133

The boat rocked, and Nishikanta, his automatic in
his hand, cried out:

“ Back with him! Throw him on board!”

The sailor obeyed, and the astounded Scraps, after a
brief flight through the air, found himself arriving on
his back on the Mary Turner’s deck. At any rate, he
took it for no more than a rough joke, and rolled about
ecstatically, squirming vermicularly, in anticipation of
what new delights of play were to be visited upon him.
He reached out, with an enticing growl of good fel-
lowship, for Michael, who was now free on deck, and
received in return a forbidding and crusty snarl.

“* Guess we'll have to add him to our collection, eh,
sir?” Daughtry observed, sparing a moment to pat re-
assurance on the big puppy’s head and being rewarded
with a caressing lick on his hand from the puppy’s bliss-
ful tongue.

No first class ship’s steward can exist without pos-
sessing a more than average measure of executive
ability. Dag Daughtry was a first class ship’s steward.
Placing the Ancient Mariner in a nook of safety, and
setting Big John to unlashing the remaining boat and
hooking on the falls, he sent Kwaque into the hold to
fill kegs of water from the scant remnant of supply and
Ah Moy to clear out the food in the galley.

The starboard boat, cluttered with men, provisions,
and property, and being rapidly rowed away from the
danger centre, which was the Mary Turner, was
scarcely a hundred yards away, when the whale, miss-
ing the schooner clean, turned at full speed and close
range, churning the water, and all but collided with the
boat. So near did she come that the rowers on the
side next to her, pulled in their oars. The surge she
raised heeled the loaded boat gunwale under, so that

~
134 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

a degree of water was shipped ere it righted. Nishi-
kanta, automatic still in hand, standing up in the stern-
sheets by the comfortable seat he had selected for him-
self, was staggered by the lurch of the boat. In his
instinctive, spasmodic effort to maintain balance, he re-
laxed his clutch of the pistol, which fell into the sea.

“ Ha-ah!” Daughtry girded. ‘‘ What price Nishi-
kanta! I got his number, and he’s lost you fellows’
goats. He’s your meat now. Easy meat? I should
say! And when it comes to the eating, eat him first.
Sure, he’s a skunk, and will taste like one, but many’s
the honest man that’s eaten skunk and pulled through
a tight place. But you’d better soak ’im all night in
salt water, first.”

Grimshaw, whose seat in the sternsheets was none of
the best, grasped the situation simultaneously with
Daughtry, and, with a quick upstanding, and hooking
out-reach of hand, caught the fat pawnbroker around
the back of the neck; then with anything but gentle sua-
sion jerked him half into the air and flung him face
downward on the bottom boards.

““Ha-ah!” said Daughtry across the hundred yards
of ocean.

Next, and without hurry, Grimshaw took the more
comfortable seat for himself.

‘Want to come along?” he called to Daughtry.

‘“No, thank you, sir,” was the latter’s reply.
‘ There’s too many of us, an’ we'll make out better in
the other boat.”

With some bailing, and with others bending to the
oars, the boat rowed frantically away, while Daughtry
took Ah Moy with him down into the lazarette be-
neath the cabin floor and broke out and passed up more
provisions.

«
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 135

It was when he was thus below that the cow grazed
the schooner just for’ard of amidships on the port side,
lashed out with her mighty tail as she sounded, and
ripped clean away the chain plates and rail of the miz-
zen shrouds. In the next roll of the huge, glassy sea,
the mizzenmast fell overside.

““My word, some whale,” Daughtry said to Ah
Moy, as they emerged from the cabin companionway
and gazed at this latest wreckage.

Ah Moy found need to get more food from the
galley, when Daughtry, Kwaque, and Big John swung
their weight on the falls, one fall at a time, and hoisted
the port boat, one end at a time, over the rail and
swung her out.

“We'll wait till the next smash, then lower away,
throw everything in, an’ get outa this,” the steward
told the Ancient Mariner. ‘Lots of time. The
schooner’ll sink no faster when she’s awash than she’s
sinkin’ now.”

Even as he spoke, the scuppers were nearly level with
the ocean, and her rolling in the big sea was sluggish.

“Hey!” he called with sudden forethought across
the widening stretch of sea to Captain Doane.
‘““What’s the course to the Marquesas? Right now?
And how far away, sir?”

“ Nor’-nor’-east-quarter-east! ’’ came the faint reply.
“Will fetch Nuka-Hiva! About two hundred miles!
Haul on the southeast trade with a good full and you'll
make it!”

‘Thank you, sir,” was the steward’s acknowledg-
ment, ere he ran aft, disrupted the binnacle, and car-
ried the steering compass back to the boat.

Almost, from the whale’s delay in renewing her
charging, did they think she had given over. And

i ea

’
136 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

while they waited and watched her rolling on the sea an
eighth of a mile away, the Mary Turner steadily sank.

‘We might almost chance it,” Daughtry was debat-
ing aloud to Big John, when a new voice entered the
discussion.

“ Cocky!— Cocky!” came plaintive tones from
below out of the steerage companion.

“ Devil be damned!” was the next, uttered in irrita-
tion and anger. ‘Devil be damned! Devil be
damned!”

“Of course not,” was Daughtry’s judgment, as he
dashed across the deck, crawled through the confusion
of the main-topmast and its many stays that blocked the
way, and found the tiny, white morsel of life perched on
a bunk-edge, ruffling its feathers, erecting and flattening
its rosy crest, and cursing in honest human speech the
waywardness of the world and of ships and humans
upon the sea.

The cockatoo stepped upon Daughtry’s inviting in-
dex finger, swiftly ascended his shirt sleeve, and, on his
shoulder, claws sunk into the flimsy shirt fabric till they
hurt the flesh beneath, leaned head to ear and
uttered in gratitude and relief, and in self-identification:
“Cocky. Cocky.”

“You son of a gun,” Daughtry crooned.

‘Glory be!” Cocky replied, in tones so like Daugh-
try’s as to startle him.

“You son of a gun,’ Daughtry repeated, cuddling
his cheek and ear against the cockatoo’s feathered and
crested head. ‘‘ And some folks thinks it’s only folks
that count in this world.”

Still the whale delayed, and, with the ocean washing
their toes on the level deck, Daughtry ordered the boat
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY = 137

lowered away. Ah Moy was eager in his haste to leap
into the bow. Nor was Daughtry’s judgment correct
that the little Chinaman’s haste was due to fear of
the sinking ship. What Ah Moy sought was the
place in the boat remotest from Kwaque and the
steward.

Shoving clear, they roughly stored the supplies and
dunnage out of the way of the thwarts and took their
places, Ah Moy pulling bow-oar, next in order Big
John and Kwaque, with Daughtry (Cocky still perched
on his shoulder) at stroke. On top of the dunnage, in
the sternsheets, Michael gazed wistfully at the Mary
Turner and continued to snarl crustily at Scraps, who
idiotically wanted to start a romp. The Ancient Mari-
ner stood up at the steering sweep and gave the order,
when all was ready, for the first dip of the oars.

A growl and a bristle from Michael warned them
that the whale was not only coming but was close
upon them. But it was not charging. Instead, it cir-
cled slowly about the schooner as if examining its an-
tagonist.

“T’'ll bet her head’s sore from all that banging, an’
she’s beginnin’ to feel it,” Daughtry grinned, chiefly for
the purpose of keeping his comrades unafraid.

Barely had they rowed a dozen strokes, when an
exclamation from Big John led them to follow his gaze
to the schooner’s forecastle-head, where the forecastle
cat flashed across in pursuit of a big rat. Other rats
they saw, evidently driven out of their lairs by the ris-
ing water.

“We just can’t leave that cat behind,” Daughtry
soliloquised in suggestive tones.

“Certainly not,” the Ancient Mariner responded,
4
138 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

swinging his weight on the steering-sweep and heading
the boat back.

Twice the whale gently rolled them in the course of
its leisurely circling, ere, the cat secured, they bent to
their oars again and pulled away. Of them the whale
seemed to take no notice. It was from the huge thing,
the schooner, that death had been wreaked upon her
calf; and it was upon the schooner that she vented the
wrath of her grief.

Even as they pulled away, the whale turned and
headed across the ocean. At a half-mile distance she
curved about and charged back.

“ With all that water in her, the schooner’ll have a
real kick-back in her when she’s hit,” Daughtry said.
“‘ Lordy me, rest on your oars an’ watch.”

Delivered squarely amidships, it was the hardest
blow the Mary Turner had received. Stays and splin-
ters of rail flew in the air as she rolled so far over as
to expose half her copper wet-glistening in the sun. As
she righted sluggishly, the mainmast swayed drunkenly
in the air but did not fall.

“A knock-out!” Daughtry cried, at sight of the
whale flurrying the water with aimless gigantic splash-
ings. ‘ It must a-smashed both of ’em.”’

“Schooner he finish close up altogether,” Kwaque
observed, as the Mary Turner’s rail disappeared.

Swiftly she sank, and no more than a matter of
moments was it when the stump of her mainmast was
gone. Remained only the whale, floating and flounder-
ing, on the surface of the sea.

‘It’s nothing to brag about,” Daughtry delivered
himself of the Mary Turner’s epitaph. ‘‘ Nobody’d
believe us. A stout little craft like that sunk, deliber-
ately sunk, by an old cow-whale! No, sir. I never
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 139

believed that old moss-back in Honolulu, when he
claimed he was a survivor of the sinkin’ of the Essex,
an’ no more will anybody believe me.”

““The pretty schooner, the pretty clever craft,”
mourned the Ancient Mariner. ‘‘ Never were there
more dainty and lovable topmasts on a three-masted
schooner, and never was there a three-masted schooner
that worked like the witch she was to windward.”

Dag Daughtry, who had kept always foot-loose and
never married, surveyed the boat-load of his respon-
sibilities to which he was anchored — Kwaque, the
Black Papuan monstrosity whom he had saved from
the bellies of his fellows; Ah Moy, the little old sea
cook whose age was problematical only by decades; the
Ancient Mariner, the dignified, the beloved, and the re-
spected; gangly Big John, the youthful Scandinavian
with the inches of a giant and the mind of a child;
Killeny Boy, the wonder of dogs; Scraps, the out-
rageously silly and fat-rolling puppy; Cocky, the white-
feathered mite of life, imperious as a steel-blade and
wheedlingly seductive as a charming child; and even
the forecastle cat, the lithe and tawny slayer of rats,
sheltering between the legs of Ah Moy. And the Mar-
quesas were two hundred miles distant full-hauled on
the tradewind which had ceased but which was as sure
to live again as the morning sun in the sky.

The steward heaved a sigh, and there whimsically
shot into his mind the memory picture in his nursery
book of the old woman who lived ina shoe. He wiped
the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand,
and was dimly aware of the area of numbness that bor-
dered the centre that was sensationless between his
eyebrows, as he said:

“Well, children, rowing won't fetch us to the Mar-
140 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

quesas. We'll need a stretch of wind for that. But
it’s up to us, right now, to put a mile or so between us
an’ that peevish old cow. Maybe she’ll revive, and
maybe she won't, but just the same I can’t help feelin’

leary about her.”
CHAPTER XVI

WO days later, as the steamer Mariposa plied

her customary route between Tahiti and San
Francisco, the passengers ceased playing deck quoits,
abandoned their card games in the smoker, their
novels and deck chairs, and crowded the rail to stare at
a small boat that skimmed to them across the sea
before a light following breeze. When Big John,
aided by Ah Moy and Kwaque, lowered the sail and
unstepped the mast, titters and laughter arose from
the passengers. It was contrary to all their precon-
ceptions of mid-ocean rescue of shipwrecked mariners
from the open boat.

It caught their faricy that this boat was the Ark,
what of its freightage of bedding, dry goods boxes,
beer-cases, a cat, two dogs, a white cockatoo, a China-
man, a kinky-headed black, a gangly pallid-haired giant,
a grizzled Dag Daughtry, and an Ancient Mariner who
looked every inch the part. Him a facetious, vacation-
ing architect’s clerk dubbed Noah, and so greeted him.

“IT say, Noah,” he called. ‘Some flood, eh? Lo-
cated Ararat yet?”

“Catch any fish?” bawled another youngster down
over the rail.

“Gracious! Look at the beer! Good English
beer! Put me down for a case!”

Never was a more popular wrecked crew more mer-
rily rescued at sea. The young blades would have it
that none other than old Noah himself had come on

141
142 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

board with the remnants of the Lost Tribes, and to
elderly female passengers spun hair-raising accounts of
the sinking of an entire tropic island by volcanic and
earthquake action.

“ I’m a steward,” Dag Daughtry told the Mariposa’s
captain, “and I'll be glad and grateful to berth along
with your stewards in the glory hole. Big John there’s
a sailorman, an’ the fo-c’s’le ‘11 do him. The Chink is
a ship’s cook, and the nigger belongs to me. But Mr.
Greenleaf, sir, is a gentleman, and the best of cabin
fare and staterooms ’Il be none too good for him, sir.”

And when the news went around that these were part
of the survivors of the three-masted schooner, Mary
Turner, smashed into kindling wood and sunk by a
whale, the elderly females no more believed than had
they the yarn of the sunken island.

“ Captain Hayward,” one of them demanded of the
steamer’s skipper, ‘‘ could a whale sink the Mariposa?”

‘* She has never been so sunk,” was his reply.

“T knew it!” she declared emphatically. ‘“‘ It’s not

-the way of ships to go around being sunk by whales, is
it, Captain?”

‘““No, madam, I assure you it is not,” was his re-
sponse. “ Nevertheless, all the five men insist upon
it,”

“ Sailors are notorious for their unveracity, are they
not?”’ the lady voiced her flat conclusion in the form
of a tentative query.

“Worst liars I ever saw, madam. Do you know,
after forty years at sea, I couldn’t believe myself
under oath.” 4

Nine days later the Mariposa threaded the Golden
Gate and docked at San Francisco. Humorous half
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 143

columns in the local papers, written in the customary
silly way by unlicked cub reporters just out of grammar
school, tickled the fancy of San Francisco for a fleeting
moment in that the steamship Mariposa had rescued
some sea-waifs possessed of a cock-and-bull story that
not even the reporters believed. Thus, silly repor-
torial unveracity usually proves extraordinary truth a
liar. It is the way of cub reporters, city newspapers,
and flat-floor populations which get their thrills from
moving pictures and for which the real world and all
its spaciousness does not exist.

“Sunk by a whale?” demanded the average flat-
floor person. ‘“‘ Nonsense, that’s all. Just plain rot-
ten nonsense. Now, in the ‘ Adventures of Eleanor,’
which is some film, believe me, I'll tell you what I saw
happen... .”

So Daughtry and his crew went ashore into Frisco
Town unheralded and unsung, the second following
morning’s lucubrations of the sea reporters being
varied disportations upon the attack on an Italian crab
fisherman by an enormous jellyfish. Big John promptly
sank out of sight in a sailors’ boarding house, and,
within the week, joined the Sailors’ Union and shipped
on a steam schooner to load redwood ties at Bandon,
Oregon. Ah Moy got no farther ashore than the de-
tention sheds of the Federal Immigration Board,
whence he was deported to China on the next Pacific
Mail steamer. The Mary Turner’s cat was adopted
by the sailors’ forecastle of the Mariposa, and on the
Mariposa sailed away on the back trip to Tahit..
Scraps was taken ashore by a quartermaster and left
in the bosom of his family.

And ashore went Dag Daughtry, with his small sav-
ings, to rent two cheap rooms for himself and his re-
144 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY.

maining responsibilities, namely, Charles Stough Green-
leaf, Kwaque, Michael, and, not least, Cocky. But not
for long did he permit the Ancient Mariner to live with
him.

“Tt’s not playing the game, sir,” he told him.
““ What we need i is capital. We've got to interest cap-
ital, and you’ve got to do the interesting. Now this
very day you’ve got to buy a couple of suit-cases, hire a
taxicab, go sailing up to the front door of the Bronx
Hotel like good pay and be damned. She’s a real
stylish hotel, but reasonable if you want to make it so.
A little room, an inside room, European plan, of
course, and then you can economise by eatin’ out.”

“* But, Steward, I have no money,” the Ancient Mari-
ner protested.

“ That’s all right, sir, I’ Il back you for all I can.’

‘Bat, my dear man, you know I’m an old impostor.
I can’t stick you up like the others. You... why

. . why, you’re a friend, don’t you see?”

“* Sure I do, and I thank you for sayin’ it, sir. And
that’s why I’m with you. And when you've nailed
another crowd of treasure-hunters and got the ship
ready, you'll just ship me along as steward, with
Kwaque, and Killeny Boy, and the rest of our family.
You’ve adopted me, now, an’ I’m your grown-up son,
an’ you've got to listen to me. The Bronx is the hotel
for you — fine soundin’ name, ain't it? That’s atmos-
phere. Folks’ll listen half to you an’ more to your
hotel. I tell you, you leaning back in a big. leather
chair talkin’ treasure with a two-bit cigar in your
mouth an’ a twenty-cent drink beside you, why that’s
like treasure. They just got to believe. An’ if you'll
come along now, sir, we'll trot out an’ buy them suit-
cases.”
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 145

Right bravely the Ancient Mariner drove to the
Bronx in a taxi, registered his “ Charles Stough Green-
leaf” in an old-fashioned hand, and took up anew the
activities which for years had kept him free of the
poor farm. No less bravely did Dag Daughtry set out
to seek work. This was most necessary, because he
was a man of expensive luxuries. His family of
Kwaque, Michael, and Cocky required food and shel-
ter; more costly than that was the maintenance of the
Ancient Mariner in the high class hotel; and, in addi-
tion, was his six-quart thirst.

But it was a time of industrial depression. The un-
employed problem was bulking bigger than usual to
the citizens of San Francisco. And, as regarded
steamships and sailing vessels, there were three stew-
ards for every steward’s position. Nothing steady
could Dag Daughtry procure, while his occasional odd
jobs did not balance his various running expenses.
Even did he do pick-and-shovel work, for the munici-
pality, for three days, when he had to give way, accord-
ing to the impartial procedure, to another needy one
whom three days’ work would keep afloat a little
longer.

Daughtry would, have put Kwaque to work, except
that Kwaque was impossible. The black, who had
only seen Sydney from steamers’ decks, had never been
in a city in his life. All he knew of the world was
steamers, far-outlying south sea isles, and his own is-
land of King William in Melanesia. So Kwaque re-
mained in the two rooms, cooking and housekeeping
for his master and caring for Michael and Cocky. All
of which was prison for Michael, who had been used
to the run of ships, of coral beaches and plantations.

But in the evenings, sometimes accompanied a few
146 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

steps in the rear of Kwaque, Michael strolled out with
Steward. The multiplicity of man-gods on the teem-
ing sidewalks became a real bore to Michael, so that
man-gods, in general, underwent a sharp depreciation.
But Steward, the particular god of his fealty and wor-
ship, appreciated. Amongst so many gods Michael
felt bewildered, while Steward’s Abrahamic bosom be-
came more than ever the one sure haven where harsh-
ness and danger never troubled.

‘Mind your step,” is the last word and warning of
twentieth-century city life. Michael was not slow to
learn it, as he conserved his own feet among the count-
less thousands of leather-shod feet of men, ever hurry-
ing, always unregarding of the existence and right of
way of a lowly, four-legged Irish terrier.

The evening outings with Steward invariably led
from saloon to saloon, where, at long bars, standing on
sawdust floors, or seated at tables, men drank and
talked. Much of both did men do, and also did Stew-
ard do, ere, his daily six-quart stint accomplished, he
turned homeward for bed. Many were the acquaint-
ances he made, and Michael with him. Coasting sea-
men and bay sailors they mostly were, although there
were many ’longshoremen and water-front workmen
among them.

From one of these, a scow-schooner captain who
plied up and down the bay and the San Joaquin and
Sacramento rivers, Daughtry had the promise of being
engaged as cook and sailor on the schooner Howard.
Eighty tons of freight, including deckload, she carried,
and in all democracy Captain Jorgensen, the cook, and
the two other sailors, loaded and unloaded her at all
hours, and sailed her night and day on all times and
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 147

tides, one man steering while three slept and recuper-
ated. It was time, and double-time, and over-time be-
yond that, but the feeding was generous and the wages
ran from forty-five to sixty dollars a month.

““Sure, you bet,” said Captain Jorgensen. “ This
cook-feller, Hanson, pretty quick I smash him up an’
fire him, then you can come along . . . and the bow-
wow, too.” Here he dropped a hearty, wholesome
hand of toil down to a caress of Michael’s head.
““That’s one fine bow-wow. A bow-wow is good ona
scow when all hands sleep alongside the dock or in an
anchor watch.”

“Fire Hanson now,” Dag Daughtry urged.

But Captain Jorgensen shook his slow head slowly.

‘* First I smash him up.”

‘* Then smash him now and fire him,”’ Daughtry per-
sisted. ‘‘ There he is right now at the corner of the
bar.”

‘““No. He must give me reason. I got plenty of
reason. But I want reason all hands can see. I want
him make me smash hin, so that all hands say, ‘ Hur-
rah, Captain, you done right.’ Then you get the job,
Daughtry.”

Had Captain Jorgensen not been dilatory in his con-
templated smashing, and had not Hanson delayed in
giving sufficient provocation for a smashing, Michael
would have accompanied Steward upon the schooner,
Howard, and all Michael’s subsequent experiences
would have been totally different from what they were
destined to be. But destined they were, by chance and
by combinations of chance events over which Michael
had no control and of which he had no more awareness
than had Steward himself. At that period, the subse-
148 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

quent stage career and nightmare of cruelty for
Michael was beyond any wildest forecast or apprehen-
sion. And as to forecasting Dag Daughtry’s fate,
along with Kwaque, no maddest drug-dream could have

approximated it.
CHAPTER XVII

NE night Dag Daughtry sat at a table in the
saloon called the Pile-drivers’ Home. He was
in a parlous predicament. Harder than ever had it
been to secure odd jobs, and he had reached the end
of his savings. Earlier in the evening he had had a
telephone conference with the Ancient Mariner, who
had reported only progress with an exceptionally strong
nibble that very day from a retired quack doctor.

“* Let me pawn my rings,” the Ancient Mariner had
urged, not for the first time, over the telephone.

“No, sir,” had been Daughtry’s reply. “ We need
them in the business. They’re stock in trade.
They’re atmosphere. They’re what you call a figure
of speech. I'll do some thinking to-night an’ see you
in the morning, sir. Hold on to them rings an’ don’t
be no more than casual in playin’ that doctor. Make’m
come to you. It’s the only way. Now you're all
right, an’ everything’s hunkydory an’ the goose hangs
high. Don’t you worry, sir. Dag Daughtry never
fell down yet.”

But, as he sat in the Pile-drivers’ Home, it looked as
if his fall-down was very near. In his pocket was pre-
cisely the room-rent for the following week, the ad-
vance payment of which was already three days over-
due and clamorously demanded by the hard-faced
landlady. In the rooms, with care, was enough food
with which to pinch through for another day. The
Ancient Mariner’s modest hotel bill had not been paid
for two weeks — a prodigious sum under the circum-

149 :
150 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

stances, being a first class hotel; while the Ancient
Mariner had no more than a couple of dollars in his
pocket with which to make a sound like prosperity in
the ears of the retired doctor who wanted to go a-treas-
uring.

Most catastrophic of all, however, was the fact that
Dag Daughtry was three-quarts short of his daily al-
lowance and did not dare break into the rent money
which was all that stood between him and his family
and the street. ‘This was why he sat at the beer table
with Captain Jorgensen, who was just returned with a
schooner-load of hay from the Petaluma Flats. He
had already bought beer twice, and evinced no further
show of thirst. Instead, he was yawning from long
hours of work and waking, and looking at his watch.
And Daughtry was three-quarts short! Besides, Han-
son had not yet been smashed, so that the cook-job on
the schooner still lay ahead an unknown distance in the
future.

In his desperation, Daughtry hit upon an idea with
which to get another schooner of steam beer. He did
not like steam beer, but it was cheaper than lager.

“ Look here, Captain,” he said. ‘ You don’t know
how smart that Killeny Boy is. Why, he can count
just like you and me.”

‘““Hoh!” rumbled Captain Jorgensen, “I seen
’em do it in side shows. It’s all tricks. Dogs an’
horses can’t count.”

“This dog can,” Daughtry continued quietly.
“You can’t fool’m. I bet you, right now, I can order
two beers, loud so he can hear and notice, and then
whisper to the waiter to bring one, an’, when the one
comes, Killeny Boy’ll raise a roar with the waiter.”

“Hoh! Hoh! How much will you bet?”
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 151

The steward fingered a dime in his pocket. If Kil-
leny failed him it meant that the rent-money would be
broken in upon. But Killeny couldn’t and wouldn’t fail
him, he reasoned, as he answered:

“T'll bet you the price of two beers.”

The waiter was summoned, and, when he had re-
ceived his secret instructions, Michael was called over
from where he lay at Kwaque’s feet in a corner.
When Steward placed a chair for him at the table and
invited him into it, he began to key up. Steward ex-
pected something of him, wanted him to show off.
And it was not because of the showing off that he was
eager, but because of his love for Steward. Love and
service were one in the simple processes of Michael's
mind. Just as he would have leaped into fire for
Steward’s sake, so would he now serve Steward in any
way Steward desired. That was what love meant to
him. It was all love meant to him — service.

“Waiter!” Steward called; and, when the waiter
stood close at hand: ‘‘ Two beers— Did you get
that, Killeny? TJ'wo beers.”

Michael squirmed in his chair, placed an impulsive
paw on the table, and impulsively flashed out his ribbon
of tongue to Steward’s close-bending face.

“He will remember,” Daughtry told the scow-
schooner captain.

“Not if we talk,” was the reply. ‘‘ Now we will
fool your bow-wow. I will say that the job is yours
when I smash Hanson. And you will say it is for me
to smash Hanson now. And I will say Hanson must
give me reason first to smash him. And then we will
argue like two fools with mouths full of much noise.
Are you ready?”

Daughtry nodded, and thereupon ensued a loud-

*”
152 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

voiced discussion that drew Michael’s earnest attention
from one talker to the other.

“I got you,” Captain Jorgensen announced, as he
saw the waiter approaching with but a single schooner
of beer. ‘“‘ The bow-wow has forgot, if he ever re-
membered. He thinks you an’ me is fighting. The
place in his mind for one beer, and two, is wiped out,
like a wave on the beach wipes out the writing in the
sand.”

““T guess he ain’t goin’ to forget arithmetic no mat-
ter how much noise you shout,” Daughtry argued aloud
against his sinking spirits. “ An’ I ain’t goin’ to butt
in,” he added hopefully. ‘‘ You just watch ’m for him-
self.” ?

The tall schooner-glass of beer was placed before
the captain, who laid a swift, containing hand around
it. And Michael, strung as a taut string, knowing that
something was expected of him, on his toes to serve,
remembered his ancient lessons on the Makambo,
vainly looked into the impassive face of Steward for a
sign, then looked about and saw, not two glasses, but
one glass. So well had he learned the difference be-
tween one and two that it came to him — how, the pro-
foundest psychologist can no more state than can he
state what thought is in itself —that there was one
glass only when two glasses had been commanded.
With an abrupt upspring, his throat half-harsh with
anger, he placed both fore-paws on the table and
barked at the waiter.

Captain Jorgensen crashed his fist down.

“You win!” he roared. “I pay for the beer!
Waiter, bring one more.”

Michael looked to Steward for verification, and
Steward’s hand on his head gave adequate reply.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 153

“We try again,” said the captain, very much awake
and interested, with the back of his hand wiping the
beer-foam from his moustache. ‘‘ Maybe he knows
one an’ two. How about three? And four?”

“ Just the same, Skipper. He counts up to five, and
knows more than five when it is more than five, though
he don’t know the figures by name after five.”

“Oh, Hanson! ” Captain Jorgensen bellowed across
the bar-room to the cook of the Howard. ‘‘ Hey, you
square-head! Come and have a drink!”

Hanson came over and pulled up a chair.

“I pay for the drinks,” said the captain; ‘‘ but you
order, Daughtry. See, now, Hanson, this is a trick
bow-wow. He can count better than you. We are
three. Daughtry is ordering three beers. The bow-
wow hears three. I hold up two fingers like this to the
waiter. He brings two. The bow-wow raises hell
with the waiter. You see.”

All of which came to pass, Michael blissfully unap-
peasable until the order was filled properly.

“* He can’t count,” was Hanson’s conclusion. “‘ He
sees one man without beer. That's all. He knows
every man should ought to have a glass. That's why
he barks.”

“Better than that,” Daughtry boasted. ‘ There
are three of us. Wewill order four. Then each man
will have his glass, but Killeny will talk to the waiter
just the same.”

True enough, now thoroughly aware of the game,
Michael made outcry to the waiter till the fourth
glass was brought. By this time many men were
about the table, all wanting to buy beer and test
Michael.

“Glory be,” Dag Daughtry soliloquised. “A
154 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

funny world. Thirsty one moment. The next mo-
ment they’d fair drown you in beer.”

Several even wanted to buy Michael, offering ridicu-
lous sums like fifteen and twenty dollars.

“T tell you what,” Captain Jorgensen muttered to
Daughtry, whom he had drawn away into a corner.
“ You give me that bow-wow, and I’ll smash Hanson
right now, and you get the job right away — come to
work in the morning.”

Into another corner the proprietor of the Pile-driv-
ers’ Home drew Daughtry to whisper to him:

“You stick around here every night with that dog of
yourn. It makes trade. I'll give you free beer any
time and fifty cents cash money a night.”

It was this proposition that started the big idea in
Daughtry’s mind. As he told Michael, back in the
room, while Kwaque was unlacing his shoes:

“Tt’s this way, Killeny. If you’re worth fifty cents
a night and free beer to that saloon keeper, then you're
worth that to me... and more, my son, more.
’Cause he’s lookin’ for a profit. That’s why he sells
beer instead of buyin’ it. An’, Killeny, you won’t mind
workin’ for me, I know. We need the money.
There’s Kwaque, an’ Mr. Greenleaf, an’ Cocky, not
even mentioning you an’ me, an’ we eat an awful lot.
An’ room-rent’s hard to get, an’ jobs is harder. What
d’ye say, son, to-morrow night you an’ me hustle around
an’ see how much coin we can gather?”

And Michael, seated on Steward’s knees, eyes to eyes
and nose to nose, his jowls held in Steward’s hands,
wriggled and squirmed with delight, flipping out his
tongue and bobbing his tail in the air. Whatever it
was, it was good, for it was Steward who spoke.
CHAPTER XVIII

THE grizzled ship’s steward and the rough-
coated Irish terrier quickly became conspicuous
figures in the night life of the Barbary Coast of San
Francisco. Daughtry elaborated on the counting trick
by bringing Cocky along. Thus, when a waiter did
not fetch the right number of glasses, Michael would
remain quite still, until Cocky, at a privy signal from
Steward, standing on one leg, with the free claw would
clutch Michael’s neck and apparently talk into
Michael’s ear. Whereupon Michael would look about
the glasses on the table and begin his usual expostula-
tion with the waiter.

But it was when Daughtry and Michael first sang
‘‘ Roll Me Down to Rio” together, that the ten-strike
was made. It occurred in a sailors’ dance hall on
Pacific Street, and all dancing stopped while the sailors
clamoured for more of the singing dog. Nor did the
place lose money, for no one left, and the crowd in-
creased to standing room as Michael went through his
repertoire of ‘“‘ God Save the King,” “‘ Sweet Bye and
Bye,” “ Lead, Kindly Light,” ‘‘ Home, Sweet Home,”
and ‘‘ Shenandoah.”

It meant more than free beer to Daughtry, for, when
he started to leave, the proprietor of the place thrust
three silver dollars into his hand and begged him to
come around with the dog next night.

“For that?’ Daughtry demanded, looking at the
money as if it were contemptible.

155
156 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Hastily the proprietor added two more dollars, and
Daughtry promised.

“Just the same, Killeny, my son,” he told Michael
as they went to bed, “I think you an’ me are worth
more than five dollars a turn. Why, the like of you
has never been seen before. A real singing dog that
can carry ’most any air with me, and that can carry
half a dozen by himself. An’ they say Caruso gets a
thousand a night. Well, you ain’t Caruso, but you're
the dog-Caruso of the entire world. Son, I’m goin’ to
be your business manager. If we can’t make a twenty-
dollar gold-piece a night— say, son, we’re goin’ to
move into better quarters. An’ the old gent up at the
Hotel de Bronx is goin’ to move into an outside room.
An’ Kwaque’s goin’ to get a real outfit of clothes. Kil-
leny, my boy, we’re goin’ to get so rich that if he can’t
snare a sucker we'll put up the cash ourselves ’n’ buy a
schooner for ’m, ’n’ send him out a-treasure-huntin’ on
his own. We'll be the suckers, eh, just you an’ me,
an’ love to.”

The Barbary Coast of San Francisco, once the old-
time sailor-town in the days when San Francisco was
reckoned the toughest port of the Seven Seas, had
evolved with the city until it depended for at least half
of its earnings on the slumming parties that visited it
and spent liberally. It was quite the custom, after din-
ner, for many of the better classes of society, espe-
cially when entertaining curious Easterners, to spend
an hour or several in motoring from dance hall to
dance hall and cheap cabaret to cheap cabaret. In
short, the “ Coast”’ was as much a sight-seeing place
as was Chinatown and the Cliff House.

It was not long before Dag Daughtry was getting
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 157

his twenty dollars a night for two twenty-minute turns,
and was declining more beer than a dozen men with
thirsts equal to his could have accommodated. Never
had he been so prosperous; nor can it be denied that
Michael enjoyed it. Enjoy it he did, but principally
for Steward’s sake. He was serving Steward, and so
to serve was his highest heart’s desire.

In truth, Michael was the bread-winner for quite a
family, each member of which fared well. Kwaque
blossomed out resplendent in russet-brown shoes, a
derby hat, and a grey suit with trousers immaculately
creased. Also, he became a devotee of the moving
picture shows, spending as much as twenty and thirty
cents a day and resolutely sitting out every repetition
of programme. Little time was required of him in
caring for Daughtry, for they had come to eating in
restaurants. Not only had the Ancient Mariner
moved into a more expensive outside room at the
Bronx; but Daughtry insisted on thrusting upon him
more spending money, so that, on occasion, he could
invite a likely acquaintance to the theatre or a concert
and bring him home in a taxi.

‘We won’t keep this up forever, Killeny,” Steward
told Michael. ‘‘ For just as long as it takes the old
gent to land another bunch of gold-pouched, retriever-
snouted treasure-hunters, and no longer. ‘Then it’s
hey for the ocean blue, my son, an’ the roll of a good
craft under our feet, an’ a smash of wet on the deck,
an’ a spout now an’ again of the scuppers.

“We got to go rollin’ down to Rio as well as sing
about it to a lot of cheap skates. They can take their
‘rotten cities. The sea’s the life for us — you an’ me,
Killeny, son, an’ the old gent an’ Kwaque, an’ Cocky,
too. We ain’t made for city ways. It ain’t healthy.
158 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

Why, son, though you maybe won’t believe it, I’m losin’
my spring. The rubber’s goin’ outa me. I’m kind o’
languid, with all night in an’ nothin’ to do but sit
around. It makes me fair sick at the thought of
hearin’ the old gent say once again, ‘I think, Steward,
one of those prime cocktails would be just the thing
before dinner.’ We'll take a little ice-machine along
next voyage, an’ give ’m the best.

““ An’ look at Kwaque, Killeny, my boy. This ain’t
his climate. He’s positively ailin’. If he sits around
them picture shows much more he’ll develop the T. B.
For the good of his health, an’ mine an’ yours, an’ all
of us, we got to get up anchor pretty soon an’ hit out
for the home of the trade winds that kiss you throvgh
an’ through with the salt an’ the life of the sea.”

In truth, Kwaque, who never complained, was ailing
fast. A swelling, slow and sensationless at first, under
his right arm-pit, had become a mild and unceasing
pain. No longer could he sleep a night through. Al-
though he lay.on his left side, never less than twice,
and often three and four times, the hurt of the swelling
woke him. Ah Moy, had he not long since been deliv-
ered back to China by the immigration authorities,
could have told him the meaning of that swelling, just
as he could have told Dag Daughtry the meaning of the
increasing area of numbness between his eyes where
the tiny, vertical, lion-lines were cutting more conspicu-
ously. Also, could he have told him what was wrong
with the little finger on his left hand. Daughtry had
first diagnosed it as a sprain of a tendon. Later, he
had decided it was chronic rheumatism brought on by
the damp and foggy San Francisco climate. It was one
of his reasons for desiring to get away again to sea
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 159

where the tropic sun would warm the rheumatics out
of him.

As a steward, Daughtry had been accustomed to con-
tact with men and women of the upper world. But for
the first time in his life, here in the underworld of San
Francisco, in all equality he met such persons from
above. Nay, more, they were eager to meet him.
They sought him. They fawned upon him for an in-
vitation to sit at his table and buy beer for him in what-
ever garish cabaret Michael was performing. ‘They
would have bought wine for him, at enormous expense,
had he not stubbornly stuck to his beer. ‘They were,
some of them, for inviting him to their homes —‘‘ And
bring the wonderful dog along for a sing-song”’; but
Daughtry, proud of Michael for being the cause of such
invitations, explained that the professional life was too
arduous to permit of such diversions. ‘To Michael he
explained that when they proffered a fee of fifty dollars,
the pair of them would “ come a-runnin’.”

Among the host of acquaintances made in their
cabaret life, two were destined, very immediately, to
play important parts in the lives of Daughtry and
Michael. The first, a politician and a doctor, by name
Emory — Walter Merritt Emory — was several times
at Daughtry’s table, where Michael sat with them on a
chair according to custom. Among other things, in
gratitude for such kindnesses from Daughtry, Doctor
Emory gave his office card and begged for the privilege
of treating, free of charge, either master or dog should
they ever become sick. In Daughtry’s opinion, Dr.
Walter Merritt Emory was a keen, clever man, un-
doubtedly able in his profession, but passionlessly self-
ish as a hungry tiger. As he told him, in the brutal
candour he could afford under such changed condi-
160 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

tions: ‘Doc, you’re a wonder. Anybody can see it
with half an eye. What you want you just go and get.
Nothing’d stop you except . . .”

“ Except what?”

“Oh, except that it was nailed down, or locked up,
or had a policeman standing guard over it. I'd sure
hate to have anything you wanted.”

“Well, you have,” Doctor Emory assured him, with
a significant nod at Michael on the chair between them.

“ Br-r-r!”? Daughtry shivered. ‘ You give me the
creeps. If I thought you really meant it, San Fran-
cisco couldn’t hold me two minutes.” He meditated
into his beer-glass a moment, then laughed with reas-
surance. ‘‘ No man could get that dog away from me.
You see, I’d kill the man first. I’d just up an’ tell’m,
as I’m tellin’ you now, I’d kill’m first. An’ he’d be-
lieve me, as you’re believin’ me now. You know I
mean it. So’d he know I meant it. Why, that
dog...”

In sheer inability to express the profundity of his
emotion, Dag Daughtry broke off the sentence and
drowned it in his beer glass.

Of quite different type was the other person of des-
tiny. Harry Del Mar, he called himself; and Harry
Del Mar was the name that appeared on the pro-
grammes when he was doing Orpheum “time.” Al-
though Daughtry did not know it, because Del Mar
was laying off for a vacation, the man did trained-
animal turns for a living. He, too, bought drinks at
Daughtry’s table. Young, not over thirty, dark of
complexion with large, long-lashed brown eyes that he
fondly believed were magnetic, cherubic of lip and fea-
ture, he belied all his appearance by talking business in
direct business fashion.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 161

“ But you ain’t got the money to buy’m,”’ Daughtry
replied, when the other had increased his first offer of
five hundred dollars for Michael to a thousand.

‘T’ve got the thousand, if that’s what you mean.”

“No,” Daughtry shook his head. ‘I mean he ain’t
for sale at any price. Besides, what do you want’m
for?”

““T like him,” Del Mar answered. ‘‘ Why do I
come to this joint? Why does the crowd come here?
Why do men buy wine, run horses, sport actresses, be-
come priests or bookworms? Because they like to.
That’s the answer. We all do what we like when we
can, go after the thing we want whether we can get it
or not. Now I like your dog. I want him. I want
him a thousand dollars’ worth— See that big dia-
mond on that woman’s hand. over there. I guess she
just liked it, and wanted it, and got it never mind the
price. The price didn’t mean as much to her as the
diamond. Now that dog of yours —”

“Don’t like you,’ Dag Daughtry broke in.
“Which is strange. He likes most everybody without
fussin’ about it. But he bristled at you from the first.
No man’d want a dog that don’t like him.”

“Which isn’t the question,” Del Mar stated quietly.
“Tlike him. As for him liking or not liking me, that’s
my lookout, and I guess I can attend to that all right.”

It seemed to Daughtry that he glimpsed or sensed
under the other’s unfaltering cherubicness of expres-
sion a steelness of cruelty that was abysmal in that it
was of controlled intelligence. Not in such terms did
Daughtry think his impression. At the most, it was a
feeling, and feelings do not require words in order to
be experienced or comprehended.

“ There’s an all-night bank,’ the other went on.
162 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

“We can stroll over, I’ll cash a check, and in half an
hour the cash will be in your hand.”

Daughtry shook his head.

‘“‘Fyven as a business proposition, nothing doing,”
he said. ‘‘ Look you. Here's the dog earnin’ twenty
dollars a night. Say he works twenty-five days in the
month. That’s five hundred a month, or six thousand
a year. Now say that’s five per cent, because it’s
easier to count, it represents the interest on a capital
value of one hundred an’ twenty thousand dollars.
Then we'll suppose expenses and salary for me is
twenty thousand. That leaves the dog worth a hun-
dred thousand. Just to be fair, cut it in half —a
fifty-thousand dog. And you're offerin’ a thousand for
him.”

““T suppose you think he’ll last forever, like so much
land,” Del Mar smiled quietly.

Daughtry saw the point instantly.

““Give’m five years of work — that’s thirty thou-
sand. Give’m one year of work — it’s six thousand.
An’ you’re offerin’ me one thousand for six thousand.
That ain’t no kind of business — for me . . . an’ him.
Besides, when he can’t work any more, an’ ain’t worth
a cent, he’ll be worth just a plumb million to me, an’, if
anybody offered it, I’d raise the price.”
CHAPTER XIX

669° LL see you again,” Harry Del Mar told Daugh-

I try, at the end of his fourth conversation on the
matter of Michael’s sale.

Wherein Harry Del Mar was mistaken. He never
saw Daughtry again, because Daughtry saw Doctor
Emory first. .'

Kwaque’s increasing restlessness at night, due to the
swelling under his right arm-pit, had begun to wake
Daughtry up. After several such experiences, he had
investigated and decided that Kwaque was sufficiently
sick to require a doctor. For which reason, one morn-
ing at eleven, taking Kwaque along, he called at Walter
Merritt Emory’s office and waited his turn in the
crowded reception room.

“I think he’s got cancer, Doc,” Daughtry said,
while Kwaque was pulling off his shirt and undershirt.
“* He never squealed, you know, never peeped. That's
the way of niggers. I didn’t find out till he got to
wakin’ me up nights with his tossin’ about an’ groanin’
in his sleep— There! What'd you call it? Cancer
or tumour — no two ways about it, eh?”

But the quick eye of Walter Merritt Emory had not
missed, in passing, the twisted fingers of Kwaque’s left
hand. Not only was his eye quick, but it was a “ leper
eye.” A volunteer surgeon in the first days out in the
Philippines, he had made a particular study of leprosy,
and had observed so many lepers that infallibly, except

in the incipient beginnings of the disease, he could pick
163
164 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

out a leper at a glance. From the twisted fingers,
which was the anesthetic form, produced by nerve-dis-
integration, to the corrugated lion forehead (again
anesthetic), his eyes flashed to the swelling under the
right arm-pit and his brain diagnosed it as the tuber-
cular form.

Just as swiftly flashed through his brain two
thoughts: the first, the axiom, whenever and wherever
you find a leper, look for the other leper; the second,
the desired Irish terrier, who was owned by Daughtry,
with whom Kwaque had been long associated. And
here all swiftness of eye-flashing ceased on the part of
Walter Merritt Emory. He did not know how much,
if anything, the steward knew about leprosy, and he did
not care to arouse any suspicions. Casually drawing
his watch to see the time, he turned and addressed
Daughtry.

‘“‘T should say his blood is out of order. He’s run
down. He’s not used to the recent life he’s been living,
nor to the food. To make certain, I shall examine for
cancer and tumour, although there’s little chance of any-
thing like that.”

And as he talked, with just a waver for a moment,
his gaze lifted above Daughtry’s eyes to the area of
forehead just above and between the eyes. It was
sufficient. His “‘ leper-eye ” had seen the “‘ lion” mark
of the leper.

‘'You’re run down yourself,” he continued smoothly.
* You’re not up to snuff, Pll wager. Eh?”

“Can't say that I am,” Daughtry agreed. ‘I guess
I got to get back to the sea an’ the tropics and warm the
rheumatics outa me.”

‘Where? ” queried Doctor Emory, almost absently,
so well did he feign it, as if apparently on the verge of
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 165

returning to a closer examination of Kwaque’s swelling.

Daughtry extended his left hand, with a little wiggle
of the little finger advertising the seat of the affliction.
Walter Merritt Emory saw, with a seeming careless
look out from under careless-drooping eyelids, the little
finger slightly swollen, slightly twisted,-with a smooth,
almost shiny, silkiness of skin-texture. Again, in the
course of turning to look at Kwaque, his eyes rested an
instant on the lion-lines of Daughtry’s brow.

“Rheumatism is still the great mystery,” Doctor
Emory said, returning to Daughtry as if deflected by
the thought. “It’s almost individual, there are so
many varieties of it. Each man has a kind of his own.
Any numbness? ”’

Daughtry laboriously wiggled his little finger.

“Yes, sir,” he answered. “It ain’t as lively as it
used to was.”

‘“‘ Ah,” Walter Merritt Emory murmured, with a
vastitude of confidence and assurance. ‘‘ Please sit
down in that chair there. Maybe I won’t be able to
cure you, but I promise you I can direct you to the best
place to live for what’s the matter with you— Miss
Judson!”

And while the trained-nurse-apparelled young woman
seated Dag Daughtry in the enamelled surgeon’s chair,
and leaned him back under direction, and while Doctor
Emory dipped his finger tips into the strongest anti-
septic his office possessed, behind Doctor Emory’s eyes,
in the midst of his brain, burned the image of a desired
Irish terrier who did turns in sailor-town cabarets, was
rough-coated, and answered to the full name of Killeny
Boy.

‘'You’ve got rheumatism in more places than your
little finger,” he assured Daughtry. ‘‘ There’s a touch
166 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

right here, I’ll wager, on your forehead. One moment,
please. Move if I hurt you. Otherwise sit still, be-
cause I don’t intend to hurt you. I merely want to see
if my diagnosis is correct— There, that’s it. Move
when you feel anything. Rheumatism has strange
freaks — Watch this, Miss Judson, and I'll wager
this form of rheumatism is new to you. See. He does
not resent. He thinks I have not begun yet . . .”

And as he talked, steadily, interestingly, he was doing
what Dag Daughtry never dreamed he was doing, and
what made Kwaque, looking on, almost dream he was
seeing because of the unrealness and impossibleness of
it. For, with a large needle, Doctor Emory was prob-
ing the dark spot in the midst of the vertical lion-lines.
Nor did he merely probe the area. Thrusting into it
from one side, under the skin and parallel to it, he
buried the length of the needle from sight through the
insensate infiltration. ‘This Kwaque beheld, with bulg-
ing eyes; for his master betrayed no tremor, wince nor
quiver of a sign that the thing was being done.

“Why don’t you begin?” Dag Daughtry questioned
impatiently. “ Besides, my rheumatism don’t count.
It’s the nigger-boy’s swelling.”

‘““You need a course of treatment,” Doctor Emory
assured him. ‘“ Rheumatism is a tough proposition.
It should never be let grow chronic. I'll fix up a course
of treatment for you. Now, if you'll get out of the
chair, we'll look at your black servant.”

But first, before Kwaque was leaned back, Doctor
Emory threw over the chair a sheet that smelled of
having been roasted almost to the scorching point. As
he was about to examine Kwaque, he looked with a
slight start of recollection at his watch. When he saw
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 167

the time he startled more, and turned a reproachful
face upon his assistant.

‘* Miss Judson,” he said, coldly emphatic, ‘‘ you have
failed me. Here it is, twenty before twelve, and you
knew I was to confer with Doctor Hadley over that
case at eleven:thirty sharp. How he must be cursing
me! You know how peevish he is.”’

Miss Judson nodded, with a perfect expression of
contrition and humility, as if she knew all about it,
although, in reality, she knew only all about her em-
ployer and had never heard till that moment of his en-
gagement at eleven:thirty.

“Doctor Hadley’s just across the hall,’ Doctor
Emory explained to Daughtry. ‘“ It won’t take me five
minutes. He and I have a disagreement. He has
diagnosed the case as chronic appendicitis and wants to
operate. I have diagnosed it as pyorrhea which has
infected the stomach from the mouth, and have sug-
gested emetine treatment of the mouth as a cure for the
stomach disorder. Of course, you don’t understand,
but the point is that I’ve persuaded Doctor Hadley to
bring in Doctor Granville, who is a dentist and a
pyorrhea expert. And they’re all waiting for me these
ten minutes! I must run.

“T’ll return inside five minutes,” he called back, as
the door to the hall was closing upon him— _ ‘“ Miss
Judson, please tell those people in the reception room
to be patient.”

He did enter Doctor Hadley’s office, although no
sufferer from pyorrhea or appendicitis awaited him.
Instead, he used the telephone for two calls: one to the
president of the board of health; the other to the chief
of police. Fortunately, he caught both at their offices,
168 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

addressing them familiarly by their first names and
talking to them most emphatically and confidentially.

Back in his own quarters, he was patently elated.

“TI told him so,”’ he assured Miss Judson, but em-
bracing Daughtry in the happy confidence. ‘“‘ Doctor
Granville backed me up. Straight pyorrhea, of course.
That knocks the operation. And right now they’re
jolting his gums and the pus-sacs with emetine.
Whew! A fellow likes to be right. I deserve a
smoke. Do you mind, Mr. Daughtry?”

And while the steward shook his head, Doctor
Emory lighted a big Havana and continued audibly to
luxuriate in his fictitious triumph over the other doctor.
As he talked, he forgot to smoke, and, leaning quite
casually against the chair, with arrant carelessness al-
lowed the live coal at the end of his cigar to rest against
the tip of one of Kwaque’s twisted fingers. A privy
wink to Miss Judson, who was the only one who ob-
served his action, warned her against anything that
might happen.

“You know, Mr. Daughtry,” Walter Merritt
Emory went on enthusiastically, while he held the
steward’s eyes with his and while all the time the live
end of the cigar continued to rest against Kwaque’s
finger, “the older I get the more convinced I am that
there are too many ill-advised and hasty operations.”

Still fire and flesh pressed together, and a tiny spiral
of smoke began to arise from Kwaque’s finger-end that
was different in colour from the smoke of a cigar-end.

‘‘ Now take that patient of Doctor Hadley’s. I’ve
saved him, not merely the risk of an operation for ap-
pendicitis, but the cost of it, and the hospital expenses.
I shall charge him nothing for what I did. Hadley's
charge will be merely nominal. Doctor Granville, at
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 169

the outside, will cure his pyorrhea with emetine for no
more than a paltry fifty dollars. Yes, by George, be-
sides the risk to his life, and the discomfort, I’ve saved
that man, all told, a cold thousand dollars to surgeon,
hospital, and nurses.”

And while he talked on, holding Daughtry’s eyes, a
smell of roast meat began to pervade the air. Doctor
Emory smelled it eagerly. So did Miss Judson smell
it, but she had been warned and gave no notice. Nor
did she look at the juxtaposition of cigar and finger, al-
though she knew by the evidence of her nose that it still
obtained.

“What's burning?’ Daughtry demanded suddenly,
sniffing the air and glancing around.

“* Pretty rotten cigar,’ Doctor Emory observed, hav-
ing removed it from contact with Kwaque’s finger and
now examining it with critical disapproval. He held
it close to his nose, and his face portrayed disgust. ‘I
won't say cabbage leaves. I’ll merely say it’s some-
thing I don’t know and don’t care to know. That’s the
trouble. They get out a good, new brand of cigar, ad-
vertise it, put the best of tobacco into it, and, when it
has taken with the public, put in inferior tobacco and
ride the popularity of it. No more in mine, thank you.
This day I change my brand.”

So speaking, he tossed the cigar into a cuspidor.
And Kwaque, leaning back in the queerest chair in which
he had ever sat, was unaware that the end of his finger
had been burned and roasted half an inch deep, and
merely wondered when the medicine doctor would cease
talking and begin looking at the swelling that hurt his
side under his arm.

And for the first time in his life, and for the ultimate
time, Dag Daughtry fell down. It was an irretrievable
170 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

fall-down. Life, in its freedom to come and go, by
heaving sea and reeling deck, through the home of the
trade-winds, back and forth between the ports, ceased
there for him in Walter Merritt Emory’s office, while
the calm-browed Miss Judson looked on and marvelled
that a man’s flesh should roast and the man wince not
from the roasting of it.

Doctor Emory continued to talk, and tried a fresh
cigar, and, despite the fact that his reception room was
overflowing, delivered, not merely a long, but a live and
interesting, dissertation on the subject of cigars and of
the tobacco leaf and filler as grown and prepared for
cigars in the tobacco-favoured regions of the earth.

“Now, as regards this swelling,” he was saying, as
he began a belated and distant examination of Kwaque’s
affliction, ‘‘ I should say, at a glance, that it is neither
tumour nor cancer, nor is it even a boil. I should
64¥ ane

A knock at the private door into the hall made him
straighten up with an eagerness that he did not attempt
to mask. A nod to Miss Judson sent her to open the
door, and entered two policemen, a police sergeant, and
a professionally whiskered person in a business suit with
a carnation in his button-hole.

“Good morning, Doctor Masters,’’ Emory greeted
the professional one, and, to the others: ‘‘ Howdy,
Sergeant; ” “ Hello, Tim; ” “ Hello, Johnson — when
did they shift you off the Chinatown squad?”

And then, continuing his suspended sentence, Walter
Merritt Emory held on, looking intently at Kwaque’s
swelling:

“I should say, as I was saying, that it is the finest,
ripest, perforating ulcer of the bacillus leprae order,
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 171

that any San Francisco doctor has had the honour of
presenting to the board of health.”

‘Leprosy! ”’ exclaimed Doctor Masters.

And all started at his pronouncement of the word.
The sergeant and the two policemen shied away from
Kwaque; Miss Judson, with a smothered cry, clapped
her two hands over her heart; and Dag Daughtry,
shocked but sceptical, demanded:

“What are you givin’ us, Doc?”

“Stand still! don’t move!” Walter Merritt Emory
said peremptorily to Daughtry. “I want you to take
notice,” he added to the others, as he gently touched
the live-end of his fresh cigar to the area of dark skin
above and between the steward’s eyes. ‘‘ Don’t move,”
he commanded Daughtry. “ Wait a moment. I am
not ready yet.”

And while Daughtry waited, perplexed, confused,
wondering why Doctor Emory did not proceed, the coal
of fire burned his skin and flesh, till the smoke of it
was apparent to all, as was the smell of it. With a
sharp laugh of triumph, Doctor Emory stepped back.

“Well, go ahead with what you was goin’ to do,”
Daughtry grumbled, the rush of events too swift and
too hidden for him to comprehend. “ An’ when you’re
done with that, I just want you to explain what you said
about leprosy an’ that nigger-boy there. He’s my boy,
an’ you can’t pull anything like that off on him...
or me.”

“Gentlemen, you have seen,” Doctor Emory said.
“ Two undoubted cases of it, master and man, the man
more advanced, with the combination of both forms,
the master with only the anesthetic form — he has a
touch of it, too, on his little finger. Take them away.
172 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

I strongly advise, Doctor Masters, a thorough fumiga-
tion of the ambulance afterward.”

“Look here . . .” Dag Daughtry began belliger-
ently.

Doctor Emory glanced warningly to Doctor Masters,
and Doctor Masters glanced authoritatively at the
sergeant, who glanced commandingly at his two police-
men. But they did not spring upon Daughtry. In-
stead, they backed farther away, drew their clubs, and
glared intimidatingly at him. More convincing than
anything else to Daughtry was the conduct of the police-
men. They were manifestly afraid of contact with
him. As he started forward, they poked the ends of
their extended clubs toward his ribs to ward him off.

“Don’t you come any closer,’ one warned him,
flourishing his club with the advertisement of braining
him. ‘“ You stay right where you are until you get
your orders.”

“Put on your shirt and stand over there alongside
your master,” Doctor Emory commanded Kwaque, hav-
ing suddenly elevated the chair and spilled him out on
his feet on the floor.

“But what under the sun .. .” Daughtry began,
but was ignored by his quondam friend, who was saying
to Doctor Masters:

‘“ The pest-house has been vacant since that Japanese
died. I know the gang of cowards in your department,
so I'd advise you to give the dope to these here so that
they can disinfect the premises when they go in.”

“For the love of Mike,’ Daughtry pleaded, all
belligerence gone from him in his state of stunned con-
viction that the dread disease possessed him. He
touched his finger to his sensationless forehead, then
smelled it and recognised the burnt flesh he had not felt
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 173

burning. “ For the love of Mike, don’t be in such a
rush. If I’ve got it, I’ve got it. But that ain’t no
reason we can’t deal with each other like white men.
Give me two hours an’ I'll get outa the city. An’ in
twenty-four I'll be outa the country. I'll take ship —”

“‘ And continue to be a menace to the public health
wherever you are,” Doctor Masters broke in, already
visioning a column in the evening papers, with scare-
heads, in which he would appear the hero, the St.
George of San Francisco standing with poised lance
between the people and the dragon of leprosy.

“Take them away,” said Walter Merritt Emory,
avoiding looking Daughtry in the eyes.

“Ready! March!” commanded the sergeant.

The two policemen advanced on Daughtry and
Kwaque with extended clubs.

“ Keep away, an’ keep movin’,” one of the policemen
growled fiercely. “‘ An’ do what we say, or get your
head cracked. Out you go, now. Out the door with
you. Better tell that coon to stick right alongside you.”

“Doc, won’t you let me talk a moment,” Daughtry
begged of Emory.

“The time, for talking is past,” was the reply.
“This is the time for segregation— Doctor Mas-
ters, don’t forget that ambulance when you're quit of
the load.”

So the procession, led by the board-of-health doctor
and the sergeant, and brought up in the rear by the
policemen with their protectively extended clubs, started
through the doorway.

Whirling about on the threshold, at the imminent
risk of having his skull cracked, Dag Daughtry called
back:

“Doc! My dog! You know ’m.”
174 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

“T'll get him for you,” Doctor Emory consented
quickly. ‘‘ What’s the address?”

“Room eighty-seven, Clay Street, the Bowhead
Lodging House, you know the place, entrance just
around the corner from the Bowhead Saloon. Have
’*m sent out to me wherever they put me — will you?”

“ Certainly I will,” said Doctor Emory, “ and you’ve
got a cockatoo, too?”

‘““You bet, Cocky! Send ’m both along, please, sir.”

‘““My!” said Miss Judson, that evening, at dinner
with a certain young interne of St. Joseph’s Hospital.
“That Doctor Emory is a wizard. No wonder he’s
successful. ‘Think of it! Two filthy lepers in our
office to-day! One was a coon. And he knew what
was the matter the moment he laid eyes onthem. He’s
a caution. When I tell you what he did to them with
his cigar! And he was cute about it! He gave me the
wink first. And they never dreamed what he was do-
ing. He took his cigar and. . .”
CHAPTER XX

HE dog, like the horse, abases the base. Being
base, Walter Merritt Emory was abased by his
desire for the possession of Michael. Had there been
no Michael, his conduct would have been quite differ-
ent. He would have dealt with Daughtry as Daugh-
try had described, as between white men. He would
have warned Daughtry of his disease and enabled him
to take ship to the South Seas, or to Japan, or to other
countries where lepers are not segregated. ‘This would
have worked no hardship on those countries, since such
was their law and procedure, while it would have en-
abled Daughtry and Kwaque to escape the hell of the
San Francisco pest house, to which, because of his base-
ness, he condemned them for the rest of their lives.
Furthermore, when the expense of the maintenance
of armed guards over the pest house, day and night,
throughout the years, is considered, Walter Merritt
Emory could have saved many thousands of dollars to
the tax-payers of the City and County of San Fran-
cisco, which thousands of dollars, had they been spent
otherwise, could have been diverted to the reduction of
the notorious crowding in schgol rooms, to purer milk
for the babies of the poor, or to an increase of breathing
space in the park system for the people of the stifling
ghetto. But had Walter Merritt Emory been thus con-
siderate, not only would Daughtry and Kwaque have
sailed out and away over the sea, but with them would
have sailed Michael.
175
176 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

Never was a reception-roomful of patients rushed
through more expeditiously than was Doctor Emory’s
the moment the door had closed upon the two police-
men who brought up Daughtry’s rear. And before he
went to his late lunch, Doctor Emory was away in his
machine and down into the Barbary Coast to the door
of the Bowhead Lodging House. On the way, by
virtue of his political affiliations, he had been able to
pick up a captain of detectives. The addition of the
captain proved necessary, for the landlady put up a
stout argument against the taking of the dog of her
lodger. But Milliken, captain of detectives, was too
well known to her, and she yielded to the law of which
he was the symbol and of which she was credulously
ignorant.

As Michael started out of the room on the end of a
rope, a plaintive call of reminder came from the win-
dow-sill, where perched a tiny, snow-white cockatoo.

“ Cocky,” he called. ‘‘ Cocky.”

Walter Merritt Emory glanced back and for no more
than a moment hesitated. ‘‘ We’ll send for the bird
later,” he told the landlady, who, still mildly expostu-
lating as she followed them downstairs, failed to notice
that the captain of the detectives had carelessly left
the door to Daughtry’s rooms ajar.

But Walter Merritt Emory was not the only base
one abased by desire of, possession of Michael. Ina
deep leather chair, his feet resting in another deep
leather chair, at the Indoor Yacht Club, Harry Del-
Mar yielded to the somniferous digestion of lunch,
which was for him breakfast as well, and glanced
through the first of the early editions of the afternoon
papers. His eyes lighted on a big headline, with a
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 177

brief five lines under it. His feet were instantly drawn
down off the chair and under him as he stood erect
upon them. On swift second thought, he sat down
again, pressed the electric button, and, while waiting
for the club steward, reread the head-line and the brief
five lines.

In a taxi, and away, heading for the Barbary Coast,
Harry Del Mar saw visions that were golden. They
took on the semblance of yellow, twenty-dollar gold
pieces, of yellow-backed paper bills of the government
stamping of the United States, of bank books, and of
rich coupons ripe for the clipping—and all shot
through with flashings of the form of a rough-coated
Irish terrier, on a galaxy of brilliantly lighted stages,
mouth open, nose upward to the drops, singing, ever
singing, as no dog had ever been known to sing in the
world before.

Cocky himself was the first to discover that the door
was ajar, and was looking at it with speculation (if by
“ speculation’ may be described the ment@l processes
of a bird, in some mysterious way absorbing into its
consciousness a fresh impression of its environment
and preparing to act, or not act, according to which
way the fresh impression modifies its conduct. Hu-
mans do this very thing, and some of them call it “ free
will’). Cocky, staring at the open door, was in just
the stage of determining whether or not he should more
closely inspect that crack of exit to the wider world,
which inspection, in turn, would determine whether or
not he should venture out through the crack, when his
eyes beheld the eyes of the second discoverer staring
in.

The eyes were bestial, yellow-green, the pupils dilat-
178 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

ing and narrowing with sharp swiftness as they sought
about among the lights and glooms of the room.
Cocky knew danger at the first glimpse — danger to the
uttermost of violent death. Yet Cocky did nothing.
No panic stirred his heart. Motionless, one eye alone
turned upon the crack, he focused that one eye upon the
head and eyes of the gaunt gutter-cat whose head had
erupted into the crack like an apparition.

Alert, dilating and contracting, as swift as cautious,
and infinitely apprehensive, the pupils vertically slitted
in jet into the midmost of amazing opals of greenish
yellow, the eyes roved the room. ‘They alighted on
Cocky. Instantly the head portrayed that the cat had
stiffened, crouched, and frozen. Almost imperceptibly
the eyes settled into a watching that was like to the
stony stare of a sphinx across aching and eternal desert
sands. The eyes were as if they had so stared for
centuries and millenniums.

No less frozen was Cocky. He drew no film across
his one eye that showed, his head cocked sideways, nor
did the passion of apprehension that whelmed him
manifest itself in the quiver of a single feather. Both
creatures were petrified into the mutual stare that is of
the hunter and the hunted, the preyer and the prey, the
meat-eater and the meat.

It was a matter of long minutes, that stare, until the
head in the doorway, with a slight turn, disappeared.
Could a bird sigh, Cocky would have sighed. But he
made no movement as he listened to the slow dragging
steps of a man go by and fade away down the hall.

Several minutes passed, and, just as abruptly, the
apparition reappeared — not alone the head this time,
but the entire sinuous form as it glided into the room
and came to rest in the middle of the floor. The eyes
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 179

brooded on Cocky, and the entire body was still save
forthe long tail, which lashed from one side to the
other and back again in an abrupt, angry, but monoto-
nous manner.

Never removing its eyes from Cocky, the cat ad-
vanced slowly until it paused not six feet away. Only
the tail lashed back and forth, and only the eyes
gleamed like jewels in the full light of the window they
faced, the vertical pupils contracting to scarcely per-
ceptible black slits.

And Cocky, who could not know death with the clear-
ness of concept of a human, nevertheless was not alto-
gether unaware that the end of all things was terribly
impending. As he watched the cat deliberately crouch
for the spring, Cocky, gallant mote of life that he was,
betrayed his one and forgivable panic.

“Cocky! Cocky!” he called plaintively to the
blind, insensate walls.

It was his call to all the world, and all powers and
things and two-legged men-creatures, and Steward in
particular, and Kwaque, and Michael. The burden of
his call was: “It is I, Cocky. I am very small and
very frail, and this is a monster to destroy me, and I
love the light bright world, and I want to live and to
continue to live in the brightness, and I am so very
small, and I’m a good little fellow, with a good little
heart, and I cannot battle with this huge, furry, hungry,
thing that is going to devour me, and IJ want help, help,
help. I am Cocky. Everybody knows me. I am
Cocky.”

This, and much more, was contained in his two calls
of: “Cocky! Cocky!”

And there was no answer from the blind walls, from
the hall outside, nor from all the world, and, his mo-
180 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

ment of panic over, Cocky was his brave little self
again. He sat motionless on the window-sill, his head
cocked to the side, with one unwavering eye regarding
on the floor, so perilously near, the eternal enemy of all
his kind.

The human quality of his voice had startled the gut-
ter cat, causing her to forego her spring as she flattened
down her ears and bellied closer to the floor.

And in the silence that followed, a blue bottle fly
buzzed rowdily against an adjacent window pane, with
occasional loud bumps against the glass tokening that
he too had his tragedy, a prisoner pent by baffling trans-
parency from the bright world that blazed so immedi-
ately beyond.

Nor was the gutter cat without her ill and hurt of
life. Hunger hurt her, and hurt her meagre breasts
that should have been full for the seven feeble and
mewing little ones, replicas of her save that their eyes
were not yet open and that they were grotesquely un-
steady on their soft, young legs. She remembered
them by the hurt of her breasts and the prod of her
instinct; also she remembered them by vision, so that,
by the subtle chemistry of her brain she could see them,
by way of the broken screen across the ventilator hole,
down into the cellar in the dark rubbish corner under
the stairway, where she had stolen her lair and birthed
her litter.

And the vision of them, and the hurt of her hunger
stirred her afresh, so that she gathered her body and
measured the distance for the leap. But Cocky was
himself again.

“Devil be damned! Devil be damned! ” he shouted
his loudest and most belligerent, as he ruffled like a
bravo at the gutter cat beneath him, so that he sent her
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 181

crouching, with startlement, lower to the floor, her ears
wilting rigidly flat and down, her tail lashing, her head
turning about the room so that her eyes might penetrate
its obscurest corners in quest of the human whose voice
had so cried out.

All of which the gutter cat did, despite the positive
evidence of her senses that this human noise had pro-
ceeded from the white bird itself on the window sill.

The bottle fly bumped once again against its invisible
prison wall in the silence that ensued. The gutter cat
prepared and sprang with sudden decision, landing
where Cocky had perched the fraction of a second be-
fore. Cocky had darted to the side, but, even as he
darted, and as the cat landed on the sill, the cat’s paw
flashed out sidewise and Cocky leaped straight up, beat-
ing the air with his wings so little used to flying. The
gutter cat reared on her hind-legs, smote upward with
one paw as a child might strike with its hat at a butter-
fly. But there was weight in the cat’s paw, and the
claws of it were outspread like so many hooks.

Struck in mid-air, a trifle of a flying machine, all its
delicate gears tangled and disrupted, Cocky fell to the
floor in a shower of white feathers, which, like snow-
flakes, eddied slowly down after, and after the plum-
met-like descent of the cat, so that some of them came
to rest on her back, startling her tense nerves with their
gentle impact and making her crouch closer while she
shot a swift glance around and overhead for any danger
that might threaten.
CHAPTER XXI

ARRY DEL MAR found only a few white
feathers on the floor of Dag Daughtry’s room
in the Bowhead Lodging House, and from the land-
lady learned what had happened to Michael. The
first thing Harry Del Mar did, still retaining his taxi,
was to locate the residence of Doctor Emory and make
sure that Michael was confined in an outhouse in the
back yard. Next he engaged passage on the steamship
Umaiilla, sailing for Seattle and Puget Sound ports at
daylight. And next he packed his luggage and paid his
bills.

In the meantime, a wordy war was occurring in
Walter Merritt Emory’s office.

“The man’s yelling his head off,” Doctor Masters
was contending. ‘The police had to rap him with
their clubs in the ambulance. He was violent. He
wanted his dog. Itcan’tbedone. It’stooraw. You
can’t steal his dog this way. He’ll make a howl in the
papers.”

“Huh!” quoth Walter Merritt Emory. “I'd like
to see a reporter with backbone enough to go within
talking distance of a leper in the pest house. And I'd
like to see the editor who wouldn’t send a pest house
letter (granting it’d been smuggled past the guards),
out to be burned the very second he became aware of
its source. Don’t you worry, Doc. There won't be
any noise in the papers.”

“ But leprosy! Public health! The dog has been
182
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 183

exposed to his master. The dog itself is a peripatetic
source of infection.”

‘‘ Contagion is the better and more technical word,
Doc,” Walter Merritt Emory soothed with the sting of
superior knowledge.

“Contagion, then,” Doctor Masters took him up.
“The public must be considered. It must not run the
risk of being infected —”

“Of contracting the contagion,” the other corrected
smoothly.

“Call it what you will. The public —”

‘““Poppycock,” said Walter Merritt Emory.
“What you don’t know about leprosy, and what the
rest of the board of health doesn’t know about leprosy,
would fill more books than have been compiled by the
men who have expertly studied the disease. The one
thing they have eternally tried, and are eternally trying,
is to inoculate one animal outside man with the leprosy
that is peculiar toman. Horses, rabbits, rats, donkeys,
monkeys, mice, and dogs — heavens, they have tried it
on them all, tens of thousands of times and a hundred
thousand times ten thousand times, and never a suc-
cessful inoculation! They have never succeeded in
inoculating it on one man from another. Here — let
me show you.”

And from his shelves Walter Merritt Emory began
pulling down his authorities.

“Amazing ... most interesting...’ Doctor
Masters continued to emit from time to time as he
followed the expert guidance of the other through the
books. ‘I never dreamed . . . the amount of work
they have done is astounding . . .

“ But,” he said in conclusion, “ there is no convincing
a layman of the matter contained on your shelves. Nor

”
184 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

can I so convince my public. Nor will I try. Besides,
the man is consigned to the living death of life-long im-
prisonment in the pest house. You know the beastly
hole it is. He loves the dog. He’s mad over it.
Let him have it. I tell you it’s rotten unfair and cruel,
and I won’t stand for it.”

“Yes, you will,’ Walter Merritt Emory assured him
coolly. ‘‘ And I’ll tell you why.”

He told him. He said things that no doctor should
say to another, but which a politician may well say, and
has often said, to another politician — things which
cannot bear repeating, if, for no other reason, because
they are too humiliating and too little conducive to
pride for the average American citizen to know; things
of the inside, secret governments of imperial munici-
palities which the average American citizen, voting free
as a king at the polls, fondly thinks he manages; things
which are, on rare occasion, partly unburied and
promptly reburied in the tomes of reports of Lexow
Committees and Federal Commissions.

And Walter Merritt Emory won his desire of
Michael against Doctor Masters; had his wife dine
with him at Jules’ that evening and took her to see Mar-
garet Anglin in celebration of the victory; returned
home at one in the morning, in his pajamas went out to
take a last look at Michael, and found no Michael.

The pest-house of San Francisco, as is naturally the
case with pest houses in all American cities, was situated
on the bleakest, remotest, forlornest, cheapest space
of land owned by the city. Poorly protected from the
Pacific Ocean, chill winds and dense fog banks whistled
and swirled sadly across the sand dunes. Picnicking
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 185

parties never came there, nor did small boys hunting
birds’ nests or playing at being wild Indians. The only
class of frequenters was the suicides, who, sad of life,
sought the saddest landscape as a fitting scene in which
to end. And, because they so ended, they never re-
peated their visits.

The outlook from the windows was not inspiriting.
A quarter of a mile in either direction, looking out
along the shallow canyon of the sand hills, Dag Daugh-
try could see the sentry boxes of the guards, themselves
armed and more prone to kill than to lay hands on any
escaping pest-man, much less persuasively discuss with
him the advisability of his return to his prison house.

On the opposing sides of the prospect from the win-
dows of the four walls of the pest house, were trees.
Eucalyptus they were, but not the royal monarchs that
their brothers are in native habitats. Poorly planted,
by politics, illy attended, by politics, decimated and
many times repeatedly decimated by the hostile forces
of their environment, a straggling corporal’s guard of
survivors, they thrust their branches, twisted and dis-
torted, as if writhing in agony, into the air. Scrub of
growth they were, expending the major portion of their
meagre nourishment in their roots that crawled seaward
through the insufficient sand for anchorage against the
prevailing gales.

Not even so far as the sentry boxes were Daughtry
and Kwaque permitted to stroll. A hundred yards in-
side was the dead-line. Here, the guards came hastily
to deposit food supplies, medicines, and written doctors’
instructions, retreating as hastily as they came. Here,
also, was a blackboard upon which Daughtry was in-
structed to chalk up his needs and requests in letters of
such size that they could be read from a distance. And
186 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

on this board, for many days, he wrote, not demands
for beer, although the six-quart daily custom had been
broken sharply off, but demands like:

WHERE IS MY DOG?

HE IS AN IRISH TERRIER.

HE IS ROUGH COATED.

HIS NAME IS KILLENY BOY.

I WANT MY DOG.

I WANT TO TALK TO DOC EMORY.

TELL DOC EMORY TO WRITE TO ME ABOUT MY DOG.

One day, Dag Daughtry wrote:

IF I DON’T GET MY DOG I WILL KILL DOC EMORY.

Whereupon the newspapers informed the public that
the sad case of the two lepers at the pest house had
become tragic, because the white one had gone insane.
Public-spirited citizens wrote to the papers, declaiming
against the maintenance of such a danger to the com-
munity, and demanding that the United States govern-
ment build a national leprosarium on some remote is-
land or isolated mountain peak. But this tiny ripple of
interest faded out in seventy-two hours, and the re-
porter-cubs proceeded variously to interest the public
in the Alaskan husky dog that was half a bear, in the
question whether or not Crispi Angelotti was guilty of
having cut the carcass of Guiseppi Bartholdi into small
portions and thrown it into the bay in a grain-sack off
Fisherman’s Wharf, and in the overt designs of Japan
upon Hawaii, the Philippines, and the Pacific Coast of
North America.

And, outside of imprisonment, nothing happened of
interest to Dag Daughtry and Kwaque at the pest-house
until one night in the late fall. A gale was not merely
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 187

brewing. It was coming on to blow. Because, in a
basket of fruit, stated to have been sent by the young
ladies of Miss Foote’s Seminary, Daughtry had read a
note artfully concealed in the heart of an apple, telling
him on the forthcoming Friday night to keep a light
burning in his window, Daughtry received a visitor at
five in the morning.

It was Charles Stough Greenleaf, the Ancient
Mariner himself. Waving wallowed for two hours
through the deep sand of the eucalyptus forest, he fell
exhausted against the pest-house door. When Daugh-
try opened it, the ancient one blew in upon him along
with a gusty wet splatter of the freshening gale.
Daughtry caught him first and supported him toward
a chair. But, remembering his own affliction, he re-
leased the old man so abruptly as to drop him violently
into the chair.

“My word, sir,” said Daughtry. “You must ’a’
ben havin’ a time of it— Here, you fella Kwaque,
this fella wringin’ wet. You fella take ’m off shoe
stop along him.”

But before Kwaque, immediately kneeling, could
touch hand to the shoe-laces, Daughtry, remembering
that Kwaque was likewise unclean, had thrust him away.

“* My word, I don’t know what to do,” Daughtry
murmured, staring about helplessly as he realised that
it was a leper house, that the very chair in which the
old man sat was a leper chair, that the very floor on
which his exhausted feet rested was a leper floor.

“I’m glad to see you, most exceeding glad,” the
Ancient Mariner panted, extending his hand in greeting.

Dag Daughtry avoided it.

“How goes the treasure-hunting?” he queried
lightly. ‘“ Any prospects in sight?”
188 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

The Ancient Mariner nodded, and with returning
breath, at first whispering, gasped out:

“We're all cleared to sail on the first of the ebb at
seven this morning. She’s out in the stream now, a
tidy bit of a schooner, the Bethlehem, with good lines
and hull and large cabin accommodations. She used to
be in the Tahiti trade, before the steamers ran her out.
Provisions are good. Everything is most excellent.
I saw to that. I cannot say I like the captain. I’ve
seen his type before. A splendid seaman, I am certain,
but a Bully Hayes grown old. A natural born pirate,
a very wicked old man indeed. Nor is the backer any
better. He is middle aged, has a bad record, and is
not in any sense of the word a gentleman, but he has
plenty of money — made it first in California oil, then
grubstaked a prospector in British Columbia, cheated
him out of his share of the big lode he discovered, and
doubled his own wealth half a dozen times over. A
very undesirable, unlikable sort of a man. But he be-
lieves in luck, and is confident that he’ll make at least
fifty millions out of our adventure and cheat me out of
my share. He’s as much a pirate as is the captain he’s
engaged.”

‘““ Mr. Greenleaf, I congratulate you, sir,” Daughtry
said. ‘“ And you have touched me, sir, touched me to
the heart, coming all the way out here on such a night,
and running such risks, just to say good-bye to poor
Dag Daughtry, who always meant somewhat well but
had bad luck.”

But while he talked so heartily, Daughtry saw, in a
resplendent visioning, all the freedom of a schooner in
the great South Seas, and felt his heart sink in realisa-
tion that remained for him only the pest-house, the
sand dunes, and the sad eucalyptus trees.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 189

The Ancient Mariner sat stiffly upright.

“Sir, you have hurt me. You have hurt me to the
heart.”

““No offence, sir, no offence,” Daughtry stammered
in apology, although he wondered in what way he could
have hurt the old gentleman’s feelings.

“You are my friend, sir,” the other went on, gravely
censorious. ‘I am your friend, sir. And you give
me to understand that you think I have come out here
to this hell-hole to say good-bye. I came out here to
get you, sir, and your nigger, sir. The schooner is
waiting for you. Allis arranged. You are signed on
the articles before the shipping commissioner. Both
of you. Signed on yesterday by proxies I arranged for
myself. One was a Barbados nigger. I got him and
the white man out of a sailors’ boarding house on Com-
mercial Street and paid them five dollars each to appear
before the Commissioner and sign on.”

“But, my God, Mr. Greenleaf, you don’t seem to
grasp it that he and I are lepers.”

Almost with a galvanic spring, the Ancient Mariner
was out of the chair and on his feet, the anger of age
and of a generous soul in his face as he cried:

“* My God, sir, what you don’t seem to grasp is that
you are my friend, and that I am your friend.”

Abruptly, still under the pressure of his wrath, he
thrust out his hand.

“Steward, Daughtry, Mr. Daughtry, friend, sir, or
whatever I may name you, this is no fairy story of the
open boat, the cross bearings unnamable, and the
treasure a fathom under the sand. This is real. I
have a heart. That, sir—’’ here he waved his ex-
tended hand under Daughtry’s nose —‘‘is my hand.
There is only one thing you may do, must do, right
190 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

now. You must take that hand in your hand, and
shake it, with your heart in your hand as mine is in my
hand.”

“But... but. . .” Daughtry faltered.

“Tf you don’t, then I shall not depart from this
place. I shall remain here, die here. I know you are
a leper. You can’t tell me anything about that.
There’s my hand. Are you going to take it? My
heart is there in the palm of it, in the pulse in every
finger-end of it. If you don’t take it, I warn you I'll
sit right down here in this chair and die. I want you to
understand I am a man, sir, a gentleman. I am a
friend, a comrade. I am no poltroon of the flesh. I
live in my heart and in my head, sir — not in this feeble
carcass I cursorily inhabit. Take that hand. I want
to talk with you afterward.”

Dag Daughtry extended his hand hesitantly, but the
Ancient Mariner seized it and pressed it so fiercely with
his age-lean fingers as to hurt.

‘““ Now we can talk,” he said. “I have thought the
whole matter over. We sail on the Bethlehem.
When the wicked man discovers that he can never get a
penny of my fabulous treasure, we will leave him. He
will be glad to be quit of us. We, you and IJ and your
nigger, will go ashore in the Marquesas. Lepers roam
about free there. There are no regulations. I have
seen them. We will be free. The land is a paradise.
And you and I will set up housekeeping. A thatched
hut — no more is needed. The work is trifling. The
freedom of beach and sea and mountain will be ours.
For you there will be sailing, swimming, fishing, hunt-
ing. There are mountain goats, wild chickens and wild
cattle. Bananas and plantains will ripen over our
heads — avocados and custard apples, also. The red
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 191

peppers grow by the door, and there will be fowls, and
the eggs of fowls. Kwaque shall do the cooking.
And there will be beer. I have long noted your thirst
unquenchable. There will be beer, six quarts of it a
day, and more, more.

“Quick. We must start now. I am sorry to tell
you that I have vainly sought your dog. I have even
paid detectives who were robbers. Doctor Emory
stole Killeny Boy from you, but within a dozen hours
he was stolen from Doctor Emory. I have left no
stone unturned. Killeny Boy is gone, as we shall be
gone from this detestable hole of a city.

‘“‘T have a machine waiting. The driver is paid well.
Also, I have promised to kill him if he defaults on me.
It bears just a bit north of east over the sandhill on the
road that runs along the other side of the funny for-
est . . . That is right. We will start now. We can
discuss afterward. Look! Daylight is beginning to
break. The guards must not seeus .. .”

Out into the storm they passed, Kwaque, with a heart
wild with gladness, bringing up the rear. At the be-
ginning Daughtry strove to walk aloof, but in a trice,
in the first heavy gust that threatened to whisk the frail
old man away, Dag Daughtry’s hand was grasping the
other’s arm, his own weight behind and under, support-
ing and impelling forward and up the hill through the
heavy sand.

“Thank you, steward, thank you, my friend,” the
Ancient Mariner murmured in the first lull between the
gusts.
CHAPTER XXII

OT altogether unwillingly, in the darkness of
night, despite that he disliked the man, did
Michael go with Harry Del Mar. Like a burglar the
man came, with infinite caution of silence, to the out-
house in Doctor Emory’s back yard where Michael was
a prisoner. Del Mar knew the theatre too well to
venture any hackneyed melodramatic effect such as an
electric torch. He felt his way in the darkness to the
door of the outhouse, unlatched it, and entered softly,
feeling with his hands for the wire-haired coat.

And Michael, a man-dog and a lion-dog in all the stuff
of him, bristled at the instant of intrusion, but made no
outcry. Instead, he smelled out the intruder and recog-
nised him. Disliking the man, nevertheless he per-
mitted the tying of the rope around his neck and silently
followed him out to the side-walk, down to the corner, .
and into the waiting taxi.

His reasoning — unless reason be denied him — was
simple. ‘This man he had met, more than once, in the
company of Steward. Amity had existed between him
and Steward, for they had sat at table and drunk to-
gether. Steward was lost. Michael knew not where
to find him, and was himself a prisoner in the back yard
of a strange place. What had once happened, could
again happen. It had happened that Steward, Del
Mar, and Michael had sat at table together on divers
occasions. It was probable that such a combination
would happen again, was going to happen now, and,

once more, in the bright-lighted cabaret, he would sit
192
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 193

on a chair, Del Mar on one side, and on the other side
beloved Steward with a glass of beer before him — all
of which might be called ‘“‘ leaping to a conclusion”’;
for conclusion there was, and upon the conclusion
Michael acted.

Now Michael could not reason to this conclusion nor
think to this conclusion, in words. ‘‘ Amity,” as an
instance, was no word in his consciousness. Whether
or not he thought to the conclusion in swift-related
images and pictures and swift-welded composites of
images and pictures, is a problem that still waits human
solution. The point is: he did think. If this be de-
nied him, then must he have acted wholly by instinct —
which would seem more marvellous on the face of it
than if, in dim ways, he had performed a vague thought-
process.

However, into the taxi and away through the maze
of San Francisco’s streets, Michael lay alertly on the
floor near Del Mar’s feet, making no overtures of
friendliness, by the same token making no demonstra-
tion of the repulsion the man’s personality engendered
in him. For Harry Del Mar, who was base, and who
had been further abased by his money-making desire
for the possession of Michael, had had his baseness
sensed by Michael from the beginning. That first
meeting in the Barbary Coast cabaret, Michael had
bristled at him, and stiffened belligerently, when he
laid his hand on Michael’s head. Nor had Michael
thought about the man at all, much less attempted any
analysis of him. Something had been wrong with that
hand — the perfunctory way in which it had touched
him under a show of heartiness that could well deceive
the onlooker. The feel of it had not been right.
There had been no warmth in it, no heart, no com-
194 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

munication of genuine good approach from the brain
and the soul of the man of which it was the telegraphic
tentacle and transmitter. In short, the message or feel
had not been a good message or feel, and Michael had
bristled and stiffened without thinking, but by mere
knowing, which is what men call “ intuition.”

Electric lights, a shed-covered wharf, mountains of
luggage and freight, the noisy toil of ’longshoremen and
sailors, the staccato snorts of donkey engines and the
whining sheaves as running lines ran through the blocks,
a crowd of white-coated stewards carrying hand-bag-
gage, the quartermaster at the gangway foot, the gang-
way sloping steeply up to the Umaitilla’s promenade
deck, more quartermasters and gold-laced ship’s officers
at the head of the gangway, and more crowd and con-
fusion blocking the narrow deck — thus Michael knew,
beyond all peradventure, that he had come back to the
sea and its ships, where he had first met Steward, where
he had been always with Steward, save for the recent
nightmare period in the great city. Nor was there
absent from the flashing visions of his consciousness
the images and memories of Kwaque and Cocky.
Whining eagerly, he strained at the leash, risking his
tender toes among the many inconsiderate, restless,
leather-shod feet of the humans, as he quested and
scented for Cocky and Kwaque, and, most of all, for
Steward.

Michael accepted his disappointment in not immedi-
ately meeting them, for from the dawn of consciousness,
the limitations and restrictions of dogs in relation to
humans had been hammered into him in the form of
concepts of patience. The patience of waiting, when
he wanted to go home and when Steward continued to
sit at table and talk and drink beer, was his, as was the
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 195

patience of the rope around the neck, the fence too high
to scale, the narrow-walled room with the closed door
which he could never unlatch but which humans un-
latched so easily. So that he permitted himself to be
led away by the ship’s butcher, who, on the Umaitilla,
had the charge of all dog passengers. Immured in a
tiny between-decks cubby which was filled mostly with
boxes and bales, tied as well by the rope around his
neck, he waited from moment to moment for the door
to open and admit, realised in the flesh, the resplendent
vision of Steward which blazed through the totality of
his consciousness.

Instead, although Michael did not guess it then, and,
only later, divined it as a vague manifestation of power
on the part of Del Mar, the well-tipped ship’s butcher
opened the door, untied him, and turned him over to
the well-tipped stateroom steward who led him to Del
Mar’s stateroom. Up to the last, Michael was con-
vinced that he was being led to Steward. Instead, in
the stateroom, he found only Del Mar. ‘No Stew-
ard,” might be described as Michael’s thought; but by
patience, as his mood and key, might be described his
acceptance of further delay in meeting up with his god,
his best beloved, his Steward who was his own human
god amidst the multitude of human gods he was en-
countering.

Michael wagged his tail, flattened his ears, even his
crinkled ear, a trifle, and smiled, all in a casual way of
recognition, smelled out the room to make doubly sure
that there was no scent of Steward, and lay down on
the floor. When Del Mar spoke, he looked up and
gazed at him.

“Now, my boy, times have changed,” Del Mar ad-
dressed him in cold, brittle tones. “ I’m going to make
196 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

an actor out of you, and teach you what’s what. First
of all, come here . . . COME HERE!”

Michael obeyed, without haste, without lagging, and
patently without eagerness.

“ You'll get over that, my Jad, and put pep into your
motions when I talk to you,’”’ Del Mar assured him; and
the very manner of his utterance was a threat that
Michael could not fail to recognise. ‘‘ Now we'll just
see if I can pull off the trick. You listen to me, and
sing like you did for that leper guy.”

Drawing a harmonica from his vest pocket, he put it
to his lips and began to play ‘‘ Marching Through
Georgia.”

“ Sit down! ” he commanded.

Again Michael obeyed, although all that was
Michael was in protest. He quivered as the shrill-
sweet strains from the silver reeds ran through him.
All his throat and chest was in the impulse to sing; but
he mastered it, for he did not care to sing for this man.
All he wanted of him was Steward.

““Oh, you’re stubborn, eh?” Del Mar sneered at
him. ‘‘ The matter with you is you’re thoroughbred.
Well, my boy, it just happens I know your kind, and I
reckon I can make you get busy and work for me just
as much as you did for that other guy. Now get busy.”

He shifted the tune on into ‘‘ Georgia Camp-Meet-
ing.” But Michael was obdurate. Not until the melt-
ing strains of ‘‘ Old Kentucky Home ”’ poured through
him did he lose his self-control and lift his mellow-
throated howl that was the call for the lost pack of the
ancient millenniums. Under the prodding hypnosis of
the music he could not but yearn and burn for the vague,
forgotten life of the pack when the world was
young and the pack was the pack ere it was lost
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 197

forever through the endless centuries of domestication.

“ Ah, ha,” Del Mar chuckled coldly, unaware of the
profound history and vast past he evoked by his silver
reeds. :

A loud knock on the partition wall warned him that
some sleepy passenger was objecting.

“That will do!” he said sharply, taking the har-
monica from his lips. And Michael ceased, and hated
him. ‘I guess I’ve got your number all right all right.
And you needn’t think you’re going to sleep here scratch-
ing fleas and disturbing my sleep.”

He pressed the call button, and, when his room
steward answered, turned Michael over to him to be
taken down below and tied up in the crowded cubby-
hole.

During the several days and nights on the Umatilla,
Michael learned much of what manner of man Harry
Del Mar was. Almost, might it be said, he learned
Del Mar’s pedigree without knowing anything of his
history. For instance, he did not know that Del Mar’s
real name was Percival Grunsky, and that at grammar
school he had been called ‘‘ Brownie ” by the girls, and
‘Blackie’ by the boys. No more did he know that
he had gone from half-way-through grammar school
directly into the industrial reform school; nor that,
after serving two years, he had been paroled out by
Harris Collins, who made a living, and an excellent one,
by training animals for the stage. Much less could he
know the training that for six years Del Mar, as assist-
ant, had been taught to give the animals, and, thereby,
had received for himself.

What Michael did know was that Del Mar had no

pedigree and was a scrub as compared with thorough-
breds such as Steward, Captain Kellar, and Mister
198 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

Haggin of Meringe. And he learned it swiftly and
simply. Inthe day-time, fetched by a steward, Michael
would be brought on deck to Del Mar, who was always
surrounded by effusive young ladies and matrons who
lavished caresses and endearments upon Michael.
This he stood, although much bored; but what irked
him almost beyond standing were the feigned caresses
and endearments Del Mar lavished on him. He knew
the cold-blooded insincerity of them, for, at night, when
he was brought to Del Mar’s room, he heard only the
cold brittle tones, sensed only the threat and the men-
ace of the other’s personality, felt, when touched by the
other’s hand, only a stiffness and sharpness of contact
that was like to so much steel or wood insofar as all
subtle tenderness of heart and spirit was absent.

This man was two-faced, two-mannered. No thor-
oughbred was anything but single-faced and single-
mannered. A thoroughbred, hot-blooded as it might
be, was always sincere. But in this scrub was no sin-
cerity, only a positive insincerity. A thoroughbred
had passion, because of its hot blood; but this scrub had
no passion. Its blood was cold as its deliberateness,
and it did nothing save deliberately. These things he
did not think. He merely realised them, as any crea-
ture realises itself in liking and in not liking.

To cap it all, the last night on board, Michael lost
his thoroughbred temper with this man who had no
temper. It came to a fight. And Michael had no
chance. He raged royally and fought royally, leaping
to the attack, after being knocked over twice by open-
handed blows under his ear. Quick as Michael was,
slashing South Sea niggers by virtue of his quickness
and cleverness, he could not touch his teeth to the flesh
of this man, who had been trained for six years with
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 199

animals by Harris Collins. So that, when he leaped,
open-mouthed, for the bite, Del Mar’s right hand shot
out, gripped his under-jaw as he was in the air, and
flipped him over in a somersaulting fall to the floor on
his back. Once again he leapt open-mouthed to the
attack, and was filliped to the floor so hard that almost
the last particle of breath was knocked out of him.
The next leap was nearly his last. He was clutched by
the throat. Two thumbs pressed into his neck on either
side of the windpipe directly on the carotid arteries,
shutting off the blood to his brain and giving him most
exquisite agony, at the same time rendering him un-
conscious far more swiftly than the swiftest anesthetic.
Darkness thrust itself upon him; and, quivering on the
floor, glimmeringly he came back to the light of the
room and to the man who was casually touching a match
‘to a cigarette and cautiously keeping an observant eye
on him.

“Come on,” Del Mar challenged. ‘I know your
kind. You can’t’ get my goat, and maybe I can’t get
yours entirely, but I can keep you under my thumb to
work for me. Come on, you!”

And Michael came. Being a thoroughbred, despite
that he knew he was beaten by this two-legged thing
which was not warm human but was so alien and hard
that he might as well attack the wall of a room with his
teeth, or a tree-trunk, or a cliff of rock, Michael leapt
bare-fanged for the throat. And all that he leapt
against was training, formula. The experience was re-
peated. His throat was gripped, the thumbs shut off
the blood from his brain, and darkness smote him.
Had he been more than a normal thoroughbred dog, he
would have continued to assail his unimpregnable enemy
until he burst his heart or fell in a fit. But he was nor-
200 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

mal. Here was something unassailable, adamantine.
As little might he win victory from it, as from the
cement-paved sidewalk of a city. The thing was a
devil, with the hardness and coldness, the wickedness
and wisdom, of a devil. It was as bad as Steward
was good. Both were two-legged. Both were gods.
But this one was an evil god.

He did not reason all this, nor any of it. Yet, trans-
muted into human terms of thought and understanding,
it adequately describes the fulness of his state of mind
toward Del Mar. Had Michael been entangled in a
fight with a warm god, he could have raged and battled
blindly, inflicting and receiving hurt in the chaos of con-
flict, as such a god, being warm, would have likewise
received and given hurt, being only a flesh-and-blood,
living, breathing entity after all. But this two-legged
god-devil did not rage blindly and was incapable of pas-
sional heat. He was like so much cunning, massive
steel machinery, and he did what Michael could never
dream he did — and, for that matter, which few hu-
mans do and which all animal trainers do: he kept one
thought ahead of Michael’s thought all the time, and
therefore, was able to have ready one action always in
anticipation of Michael’s next action. ‘This was the
training he had received from Harris Collins, who,
withal he was a sentimental and doting husband and
father, was the arch-devil when it came to animals other
than human ones, and who reigned in an animal hell
which he had created and made lucrative.

Michael went ashore in Seattle all eagerness, strain-
ing at his leash until he choked and coughed and was
coldly cursed by Del Mar. For Michael was mastered
by his expectation that he would meet Steward, and he
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 201

looked for him around the first corner, and around all
corners with undiminished zeal. But amongst the mul-
titudes of men there was no Steward. Instead, down
in the basement of the New Washington Hotel, where
electric lights burned always, under the care of the
baggage porter, he was tied securely by the neck in the
midst of Alpine ranges of trunks which were forever
being heaped up, sought over, taken down, carried
away, or added to.

Three days of this dolorous existence he passed.
The porters made friends with him and offered him
prodigious quantities of cooked meats from the leavings
of the dining-room. Michael was too disappointed and
grief-stricken over Steward to overeat himself, while
Del Mar, accompanied by the manager of the hotel,
raised a great row with the porters for violating the
feeding instructions.

“That guy’s no good,” said the head porter to his
assistant, when Del Mar had departed. ‘‘ He’s greasy.
I never liked greasy brunettes anyway. My wife’s a
brunette, but thank the Lord she ain’t greasy.”

“ Sure,” agreed the assistant. ‘I know his kind.
Why, if you’d stick a knife into him he wouldn’t bleed
blood. It'd be straight liquid lard.”

Whereupon the pair of them immediately presented
Michael with vaster quantities of meat which he could
not eat because the desire for Steward was too much
with him,

In the meantime Del Mar sent off two telegrams to
New York, the first to Harris Collins’ animal training
school, where his troupe of dogs was boarding through
his vacation:

Sell my dogs. You know what they can do and
202 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

what they are worth. Am done with them. De-
duct the board and hold the balance for me until I
see you. I have the limit of a dog. Every turn I
ever pulled is put in the shade by this one. He’s a
ten strike. Wait till you see him.

The second, to his booking agent:

Get busy. Book me over the best. Talk it up. I
have the turn. A winner. Nothing like it. Don't
talk up top price but way over top price. Prepare
them for the dog when I give them the chance for the
once over. Youknow me. I am giving it straight.
This will head the bill anywhere all the time.
CHAPTER XXIII

AME the crate. Because Del Mar brought it
into the baggage-room, Michael was suspicious
of it. A minute later his suspicion was justified. Del
Mar invited him to go into the crate, and he declined.
With a quick deft clutch on the collar at the back of his
neck, Del Mar jerked him off his footing and thrust
him in, or partly in, rather, because he had managed to
get a hold on the edge of the crate with his two fore-
paws. The animal trainer wasted no time. He
brought the clenched fist of his free hand down in two
blows, rat-tat, on Michael’s paws. And Michael, at
the pain, relaxed both holds. The next instant, he was
thrust inside, snarling his indignation and rage as he
vainly flung himself at the open bars, while Del Mar
was locking the stout door.

Next, the crate was carried out to an express wagon
and loaded in along with a number of trunks. Del
Mar had disappeared the moment he had locked the
door, and the two men in the wagon, which was now
jouncing along over the cobblestones, were strangers.
There was just room in the crate for Michael to stand
upright, although he could not lift his head above the
level of his shoulders. And, so standing, his head
pressed against the top, a rut in the road, jolting the
wagon and its contents, caused his head to bump vio-
lently.

The crate was not quite so long as Michael, so that

he was compelled to stand with the end of his nose
203
204 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

pressing against the end of the crate. An automobile,
darting out from a cross street, caused the driver of the
wagon to pull in abruptly and apply the brake. With
the crate thus suddenly arrested, Michael’s body was
precipitated forward. ‘There was no brake to stop
him, unless the soft end of his nose be considered the
brake, for it was his nose that brought his body to rest
inside the crate.

He tried lying down, confined as the space was, and
made out better, although his lips were cut and bleed-
ing by having been forced so sharply against his teeth.
But the worst was to come. One of his fore-paws
slipped out through the slats or bars and rested on the
bottom of the wagon where the trunks were squeaking,
screeching, and jigging. A rut in the roadway made
the nearest trunk tilt one edge in the air and shift posi-
tion, so that when it tilted back again it rested on
Michael’s paw. ‘The unexpectedness of the crushing
hurt of it caused him to yelp and at the same time in-
stinctively and spasmodically to pull back with all his
strength. This wrenched his shoulder and added to
the agony of the imprisoned foot.

And blind fear descended upon Michael, the fear
that is implanted in all animals and in man himself —
the fear of the trap. Utterly beside himself, though
he no longer yelped, he flung himself madly about,
straining the tendons and muscles of his shoulder and
leg and further and severely injuring the crushed foot.
He even attacked the bars with his teeth in his agony
to get at the monster thing outside that had laid hold
of him and would not let him go. Another rut saved
him, however, tilting the trunk just sufficiently to
enable his violent struggling to drag the foot clear.

At the railroad station, the crate was handled, not
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 205

with deliberate roughness, but with such carelessness
that it half-slipped out of a baggageman’s hands, cap-
sized sidewise, and was caught when it was past the
man’s knees but before it struck the cement floor. But
Michael, sliding helplessly down the perpendicular bot-
tom of the crate, fetched up with his full weight on the
injured paw.

“Fuh!” said Del Mar a little later to Michael,
having strolled down the platform to where the crate
was piled on a truck with other baggage destined for
the train. ‘‘ Got your foot smashed. Well, it’ll teach
you a lesson to keep your feet inside.”

“That claw is a goner,” one of the station baggage-
men said, straightening up from an examination of
Michael through the bars.

Del Mar bent to a closer scrutiny.

‘“*So’s the whole toe,” he said, drawing his pocket
knife and opening a blade. “I'll fix it in half a jiffy
if you’ll lend a hand.”

He unlocked the box and dipped Michael out with
the customary strangle-hold on the neck. He squirmed
and struggled, dabbing at the air with the injured as
well as the uninjured fore-paw and increasing his pain.

“ You hold the leg,”” Del Mar commanded. ‘“ He’s
safe with that grip. It won’t take a second.”

Nor did it take longer. And Michael, back in the
box and raging, was one toe short of the number which
he had brought into the world. The blood ran freely
from the crude but effective surgery, and he lay and
licked the wound and was depressed with apprehension
of he knew not what terrible fate awaited him and was
close at hand. Never, in his experience of men, had
he been so treated, while the confinement of the box
was maddening with its suggestion of the trap.
206 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Trapped he was, and helpless, and the ultimate evil of
life had happened to Steward, who had evidently been
swallowed up by the Nothingness which had swallowed
up Meringe, the Eugénie, the Solomon Islands, the
Makambo, Australia, and the Mary Turner.

Suddenly, from a distance, came a bedlam of noise
that made Michael prick up his ears and bristle with
premonition of fresh disaster. It was a confused yelp-
ing, howling, and barking of many dogs.

‘Holy Smoke! — It’s them damned acting dogs,”
growled the baggageman to his mate. ‘‘ There ought
to be a law against dog-acts. It ain’t decent.”

“It’s Peterson’s Troupe,” said the other. “I was
on when they come in last week. One of ’em was dead
in his box, and from what I could see of him it looked
mighty like he’d had the tar knocked outa him.”

“ Got a wollopin’ from Peterson most likely in the
last town and then was shipped along with the bunch.
and left to die in the baggage car.”

The bedlam increased as the animals were trans-
ferred from the wagon to a platform truck, and when
the truck rolled up and stopped alongside Michael’s
he made out that it was piled high with crated dogs.
In truth, there were thirty-five dogs, of every sort of
breed and mostly mongrel, and that they were far from
happy was attested by their actions. Some howled,
some whimpered, others growled and raged at one an-
other through the slats, and many maintained a silence
of misery. Several licked and nursed bruised feet.
Smaller dogs that did not fight much were crammed two
or more into single crates. Half a dozen greyhounds
were crowded into larger crates that were anything
save large enough.

‘““Them’s the high-jumpers,” said the first baggage-
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 207

man. ‘An’ look at the way they’re packed. Peter-
son ain’t going to pay any more excess baggage than
he has to. Not half room enough for them to stand
up. It must be hell for them from the time they leave
one town till they arrive at the next.”

But what the baggageman did not know was that in
the towns the hell was not mitigated, that the dogs were
still confined in their too-narrow prisons, that, in fact,
they were life prisoners. Rarely, except for their acts,
were they taken out of their cages. From a business
standpoint, good care did not pay. Since mongrel
dogs were cheap, it was cheaper to replace them when
they died than so to care for them as to keep them from
dying.

What the baggageman did not know, and what
Peterson did know, was that of these thirty-five dogs
not one was a surviving original of the troupe when it
first started out four years before. Nor had there
been any originals discarded. The only way they left
the troupe and its cages was by dying. Nor did
Michael know even as little as the baggageman knew.
He knew nothing save that here reigned pain and woe
and that it seemed he was destined to share the same
fate.

Into the midst of them, when with more howlings
and yelpings they were loaded into the baggage car,
was Michael’s cage piled. And for a day and a part
of two nights, travelling eastward, he remained in the
dog inferno. Then they were loaded off in some large
city, and Michael continued on in greater quietness and
comfort, although his injured foot still hurt and was
bruised afresh whenever his crate was moved about in
the car.

What it was all about — why he was kept in his
208 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

cramped prison in the cramped car — he did not ask
himself. He accepted it as unhappiness and misery,
and had no more explanation for it than for the crush-
ing of the paw. Such things happened. It was life,
and life had many evils. The why of things never en-
tered his head. He knew things and some small bit of
the how of things. What was, was. Water was wet,
fire hot, iron hard, meat good. He accepted such
things as he accepted the everlasting miracles of the
light and of the dark, which were no miracles to him
any more than was his wire coat a miracle, or his beat-
ing heart, or his thinking brain.

In Chicago, he was loaded upon a truck, carted
through the roaring streets of the vast city, and put into
another baggage car which was quickly in motion in
continuation of the eastern journey. It meant more
strange men who handled baggage, as it meant in New
York, where, from railroad baggage-room to express
wagon he was exchanged, forever a crated prisoner and
despatched to one, Harris Collins, on Long Island.

First of all came Harris Collins and the animal hell
over which he ruled. But the second event must be
stated first. Michael never saw Harry Del Mar again.
As the other men he had known had stepped out of life,
which was a way they had, so Harry Del Mar stepped
out of Michael’s purview of life as well as out of life
itself. And his stepping out was literal. A collision
on the elevated, a panic scramble of the uninjured out
upon the trestle over the street, a step on the third rail,
and Harry Del Mar was engulfed in the Nothingness
which men know as death and which is nothingness in-
sofar as such engulfed ones never reappear nor walk
the ways of life again.
CHAPTER XXIV
ARRIS COLLINS was fifty-two years of age.

He was slender and dapper, and in appearance
and comportment was so sweet- and gentle-spirited
that the impression he radiated was almost of sissy-
ness. He might have taught a Sunday school, presided
over a girls’ seminary, or been president of a humane
society.

His complexion was pink and white, his hands were
as soft as the hands of his daughters, and he weighed
a hundred and twelve pounds. Moreover, he was
afraid of his wife, afraid of a policeman, afraid of
physical violence, and lived in constant dread of bur-
glars. But the one thing he was not afraid of was
wild animals of the most ferocious sorts such as lions,
tigers, leopards, and jaguars. He knew the game, and
could conquer the most refractory lion with a broom
handle — not outside the cage, but inside and locked in.

It was because he knew the game and had learned
it from his father before him, a man even smaller than
himself and more fearful of all things except animals.
This father, Noel Collins, had been a successful animal
trainer in England, before emigrating to America, and
in America he had continued the success and laid the
foundation of the big animal training school at Cedar-
wild, which his son had developed and built up after
him. So well had Harris Collins built on his father’s
foundation that the place was considered a model of
sanitation and kindness. It entertained many visitors,
who invariably went away with their souls filled with

209
210 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

ecstasy over the atmosphere of sweetness and light that
pervaded the place. Never, however, were they per-
mitted to see the actual training. On occasion, per-
formances were given them by the finished products
which verified all their other delightful and charming
conclusions about the school. But had they seen the
training of the raw novitiates, it would have been a
different story. It might even have been a riot. As
it was, the place was a zoo, and free at that; for, in
addition to the animals he owned and trained and
bought and sold, a large portion of the business was
devoted to boarding trained animals and troupes of
animals for owners who were out of engagements, or
for estates of such owners which were in process of
settlement. From mice and rats to camels and ele-
phants, and even, on occasion, to a rhinoceros or a pair
of hippopotamuses, he could supply any animal on
demand.

When the Circling Brothers’ big three-ring show on
a hard winter went into the hands of the receivers, he
boarded the menagerie and the horses and in three
months turned a profit of fifteen thousand dollars.
More — he: mortgaged all he possessed against the
day of the auction, bought in the trained horses and
ponies, the giraffe herd and the performing elephants,
and, in six months more was quit of all of them, save
the pony Repeater who turned airsprings, at another
profit of fifteen thousand dollars. As for Repeater,
he sold the pony several months later for a sheer profit
of two thousand. While this bankruptcy of the Cir-
cling Brothers had been the greatest financial achieve-
ment of Harris Collins’ life, nevertheless he enjoyed
no mean permanent income from his plant, and, in ad-
dition, split fees with the owners of his board animals
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 11

when he sent them to the winter Hippodrome shows,
and, more often than not, failed to split any fee at all
when he rented the animals to moving picture compa-
nies.

Animal men, the country over, acknowledged him to
be, not only the richest in the business, but the king of
trainers and the grittiest man who ever went into a
cage. And those who from the inside had seen him
work were agreed that he had no soul. Yet his wife
and children, and those in his small social circle, thought
otherwise. They, never seeing him at work, were con-
vinced that no softer-hearted, more sentimental man
had ever been born. His voice was low and gentle,
his gestures were delicate, his views on life, the world,
religion and politics, the mildest. A kind word melted
him. A plea wonhim. He gave to all local charities,
and was gravely depressed for a week when the Titanic
went down. And yet — the men in the trained-animal
game acknowledged him the nerviest and most nerve-
less of the profession. And yet— his greatest fear
in the world was that his large, stout wife, at table,
should crown him with a plate of hot soup. Twice, in
a tantrum, she had done this during their earlier mar-
ried life. In addition to his fear that she might do it
again, he loved her sincerely and devotedly, as he loved
his children, seven of them, for whom nothing was too
good or too expensive.

So well did he love' them, that the four boys from the
beginning he forbade from seeing him work and
planned gentler careers for them. John, the oldest,
in Yale, had elected to become a man of letters, and,
in the meantime, ran his own automobile with the corre-
sponding standard of living such ownership connoted
in the college town of New Haven. Harold and
212 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Frederick were down at a millionaires’ sons’ academy
in Pennsylvania, and Clarence, the youngest, at a prep
school in Massachusetts, was divided in his choice of
career between becoming a doctor or an aviator. The
three girls, two of them twins, were pledged to be cul-
tured into ladies. Elsie was on the verge of graduat-
ing from Vassar. Mary and Madeline, the twins, in
the most select and most expensive of seminaries, were
preparing for Vassar. All of which required money
which Harris Collins did not grudge, but which
strained the earning capacity of his animal training
school. It compelled him to work the harder, al-
though his wife and the four sons and three daughters
did not dream that he actually worked at all. Their
idea was that by virtue of superior wisdom he merely
superintended, and they would have been terribly
shocked could they have seen him, club in hand, thresh-
ing forty mongrel dogs, in the process of training,
which had become excited and out of hand.

A great deal of the work was done by his assistants,
but it was Harris Collins who taught them continually
what to do and how to do it, and who himself, on more
important animals, did the work and showed them
how. His assistants were almost invariably youths
from the reform schools, and he picked them with skil-
ful eye and intuition. Control of them, under their
paroles, with intelligence and coldness on their part,
were the conditions and qualities he sought, and such
combination, as a matter of course, carried with it
cruelty. Hot blood, generous impulses, sentimentality,
were qualities he did not want for his business; and the
Cedarwild Animal School was business from the first
tick of the clock to the last bite of the lash. In short,
Harris Collins, in the totality of results, was guilty of
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 213

causing more misery and pain to animals than all
laboratories of vivisection in Christendom.

And into this animal hell Michael descended — al-
though his arrival was horizontal, across three thou-
sand five hundred miles, in the same crate in which he
had been placed at the New Washington Hotel in
Seattle. Never once had he been out of the crate dur-
ing the entire journey, and filthiness, as well as wretch-
edness, characterised his condition. ‘Thanks to his
general good health, the wound of the amputated toe
was in the process of uneventful healing. But dirt
clung to him, and he was infested with fleas.

Cedarwild, to look at, was anything save a hell.
Velvet lawns, gravelled walks and drives, and flowers
formally growing, led up to the group of long low
buildings, some of frame and some of concrete. But
Michael was not received by Harris Collins, who, at
the moment, sat in his private office, Harry Del Mar’s
last telegram on his desk, writing a memorandum to
his secretary to query the railroad and the express com-
panies for the whereabouts of a dog, crated and shipped
by one, Harry Del Mar, from Seattle and consigned to
Cedarwild. It was a pallid-eyed youth of eighteen in
overalls who received Michael, receipted for him to
the expressman, and carried his crate into a slope-
floored concrete room that smelled offensively and
chemically clean.

Michael was impressed by his surroundings but not
attracted by the youth, who rolled up his sleeves and
encased himself in large oilskin apron before he opened
the crate. Michael sprang out and staggered about
on legs which had not walked for days. This particu-
lar two-legged god was uninteresting. He was as cold
as the concrete floor, as methodical as a machine; and
214 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

in such fashion he went about the washing, scrubbing,
and disinfecting of Michael. For Harris Collins was
scientific and antiseptic to the last word in his handling
of animals, and Michael was scientifically made clean,
without deliberate harshness, but without any slightest
hint of gentleness or consideration.

Naturally, he did not understand. On top of all he
had already experienced, not even knowing execution-'
ers and execution chambers, for all he knew this bare
room of cement and chemical smell might well be the
place of the ultimate life disaster and this youth the
god who was to send him into the dark which had en-
gulfed all he had known and loved. What Michael
did know beyond the shadow of any doubt was that it
was all coldly ominous and terribly strange. He en-
dured the hand of the youth-god on the scruff of his
neck, after the collar had been unbuckled; but when
the hose was turned on him, he resented and resisted.
The youth, merely working by formula, tightened the
safe grip on the scruff on Michael’s neck and lifted him
clear of the floor, at the same time, with the other
hand, directing the stream of water into his mouth and
increasing it to full force by the nozzle control.
Michael fought, and was well drowned for his pains,
until he gasped and strangled helplessly.

After that he resisted no more, and was washed out
and scrubbed out and cleansed out with the hose, a big
bristly brush, and much carbolic soap, the lather of
which got into and stung his eyes and nose, causing him
to weep copiously and sneeze violently. Apprehensive
of what might at any moment happen to him, but by
this time aware that the youth was neither positive nor
negative for kindness or harm, Michael continued to
endure without further battling, until, clean and com-
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 215

fortable, he was put away into a pen, sweet and whole-
some, where he slept and for the time being forgot.
The place was the hospital, or segregation ward, and
a week of imprisonment was spent therein, in which
nothing happened in the way of development of germ
diseases, and nothing happened to him except regular
good food, pure drinking water, and absolute isolation
from contact with all life save the youth-god who, like
an automaton, attended on him.

Michael had yet to meet Harris Collins, although,
from a distance, often he heard his voice, not loud, but
very imperative. That the owner of this voice was a
high god, Michael knew from the first sound of it.
Only a high god, a master over ordinary gods, could
be so imperative. Will was in that voice, and accus-
tomedness to command. Any dog would have so de-
cided as quickly as Michael did. And any dog would
have decided that there was no love nor lovableness in
the god behind the voice, nothing to warm one’s heart
nor to adore.
CHAPTER XXV

T was at eleven in the morning that the pale youth-
god put collar and chain on Michael, led him out of
the segregation ward, and turned him over to a dark
youth-god who wasted no time of greeting on him and
manifested no friendliness. A captive at the end of a
chain, on the way Michael quickly encountered other
captives going in his direction. There were three of
them, and never had he seen the like. Three slouch-
ing, ambling monsters of bears they were, and at sight
of them Michael bristled and uttered the lowest of
growls; for he knew them, out of his heredity (as a
domestic cow knows her first wolf), as immemorial
enemies from the wild. But he had travelled too far,
seen too much, and was altogether too sensible, to at-
tack them. Instead, walking stiff-legged and circum-
spectly, but smelling with all his nose the strange scent
of the creatures, he followed at the end of his chain his
own captor god.

Continually a multitude of strange scents invaded his
nostrils. Although he could not see through walls, he
got the smells he was later to identify of lions, leopards,
monkeys, baboons, and seals and sea-lions. All of
which might have stunned an ordinary dog; but the
effect on him was to make him very alert and at the
same time very subdued. It was as if he walked in a
new and monstrously populous jungle and was unac-
quainted with its ways and denizens.

As he was entering the arena, he shied off to the
216
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY, 217

side more stiff-leggedly than ever, bristled all along
his neck and back, and growled deep and low in his
throat. For, emerging from the arena, came five ele-
phants. Small elephants they were, but to him they
were the hugest of monsters, in his mind comparable
only with the cow-whale of which he had caught fleet-
ing glimpses when she destroyed the schooner Mary
Turner. But the elephants took no notice of him, each
with its trunk clutching the tail of the one in front of it
as it had been taught to do in making an exit.

Into the arena he came, the bears following on his
heels. It was a sawdust circle the size of a circus ring,
contained inside a square building that was roofed over
with glass. But there were no seats about the ring,
since spectators were not tolerated. Only Harris Col-
lins and his assistants, and buyers and sellers of ani-
mals and men in the profession, were ever permitted to
behold how animals were tormented into the perform-
ance of tricks to make the public open its mouth in
astonishment or laughter.

Michael forgot about the bears, who were quickly
at work on the other side of the circle from that to
which he was taken. Some men, rolling out stout
bright-painted barrels which elephants could not crush
by sitting on, attracted his attention for a moment.
Next, in a pause on the part of the man who led him,
he regarded with huge interest a piebald Shetland pony.
it lay onthe ground. A mansatonit. And ever and
anon it lifted its head from the sawdust and kissed the
man. This was all Michael saw, yet he sensed some-
thing wrong about it. He knew not why, had no evi-
dence why, but he felt cruelty and power and unfair-
ness. What he did not see was the long pin in the
man’s hand. Each time he thrust this in the pony’s
218 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

shoulder, the pony, stung by the pain and reflex action,
lifted its head, and the man was deftly ready to meet
the pony’s mouth with his own mouth. To an audi-
ence the impression would be that in such fashion the
pony was expressing its affection for the master.

Not a dozen feet away another Shetland, a coal-
black one, was behaving as peculiarly as it was being
treated. Ropes were attached to its forelegs, each rope
held by an assistant, who jerked on the same stoutly
when a third man, standing in front of the pony, tapped
it on the knees with a short, stiff whip of rattan.
Whereupon the pony went down on its knees in the saw-
dust in a genuflection to the man with the whip. The
pony did not like it, sometimes so successfully resisting
with spread, taut legs and mutinous head-tossings, as
to overcome the jerk of the ropes, and, at the same
time wheeling, to fall heavily on its side or to uprear
as the pull on the ropes was relaxed. But always it
was lined up again to face the man who rapped its
knees with the rattan. It was being taught merely
how to kneel in the way that is ever a delight to the
audiences who see only the results of the schooling and
never dream of the manner of the schooling. For, as
Michael was quickly sensing, knowledge was here
learned by pain. In short, this was the college of pain,
this Cedarwild Animal School.

Harris Collins himself nodded the dark youth-god
up to him and turned an inquiring and estimating gaze
on Michael.

“The Del Mar dog, sir,” said the youth-god.

Collins’ eyes brightened, and he looked Michael over
more carefully.

‘Do you know what he can do?” he queried.

The youth shook his head.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 219

“Harry was a keen one,” Collins went on, appar-
ently to the youth-god but mostly for his own benefit,
being given to thinking aloud. ‘‘ He picked this dog
asa winner. And now what can he do? That’s the
question. Poor Harry’s gone, and we don’t know
what he can do.— Take off the chain.”

Released, Michael regarded the master-god and
waited for what might happen. A squall of pain from
one of the bears across the ring hinted to him what he
might expect.

“Come here,”’ Collins commanded in his cold hard
tones.

Michael came and stood before him.

* Lie down! ”

Michael lay down, although he did it slowly, with
advertised reluctance.

“ Damned thoroughbred!” Collins sneered at him.
“‘Won’t put any pep into your motions, eh? Well,
we'll take care of that— Get up!— Lie down! —
Get up! — Lie down! — Get up!”

His commands were staccato, like revolver shots or
the cracks of whips, and Michael obeyed them in his
same, slow, reluctant way.

“ Understands English, at any rate,” said Collins.
“Wonder if he can turn the double flip,” he added,
expressing the golden dream of all dog-trainers.
‘“*Come on, we'll try him for a flip. Put the chain
on him.— Come over here, Jimmy. Put another
lead on him.”

Another reform-school graduate youth obeyed,
snapping a girth about Michael’s loins, to which was
attached a thin rope.

“Line him up,” Collins commanded. “ Ready? —
Go!”
220 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

And the most amazing, astounding indignity was
wreaked upon Michael. At the word “ Go!”’, simul-
taneously the chain on his collar jerked him up and
back in the air, the rope on his hind quarters jerked
that portion of him under, forward, and up, and the
stiff short stick in Collins’ hand hit him under the lower
jaw. Had he had any previous experience with the
manceuvre, he would have saved himself part of the
pain at least by springing and whirling backward in the
air. As it was, he felt as if being torn and wrenched
apart while at the same time the blow under his jaw
stung him and almost dazed him. And, at the same
time, whirled violently into the air, he fell on the back
of his head in the sawdust.

Out of the sawdust he soared in rage, neck-hair erect,
throat a-snarl, teeth bared to bite, and he would have
sunk his teeth into the flesh of the master-god had he
not been the slave of cunning formula. The two
youths knew their work. One tightened the lead
ahead, the other to the rear, and Michael snarled and
bristled his impotent wrath. Nothing could he do,
neither advance, nor retreat, nor whirl sideways. The
youth in front, by the chain, prevented him from attack-
ing the youth behind, and the youth behind, with the
rope, prevented him from attacking the youth in front,
and both so prevented him from attacking Collins
whom he knew incontrovertibly to be the master of evil
and hurt.

Michael’s wrath was as superlative as was his help-
lessness. He could only bristle and tear his vocal
chords with his rage. But it was a very ancient and
boresome experience to Collins. He was even taking
advantage of the moment to glance across the arena
and size up what the bears were doing.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 221

“Oh, you thoroughbred,” he sneered at Michael,
returning his attention to him.— ‘Slack him! —
Let go!”

The instant his bonds were released, Michael soared
at Collins, and Collins, timing and distancing with the
accuracy of long years, kicked him under the jaw and
whirled him back and down into the sawdust.

“Hold him!” Collins ordered. ‘‘ Line him out!”

And the two youths, pulling in opposite direc-
tions with chain and rope, stretched him into helpless-
ness.

Collins glanced across the ring to the entrance, where
two teams of heavy draft horses were entering, fol-
lowed by a woman dressed to over-dressedness in the
last word of a stylish street costume.

“TI fancy he’s never done any flipping,” Collins re-
marked, coming back to the problem of Michael for a
moment. ‘“ Take off your lead, Jimmy, and go over
and help Smith—- Johnny, hold him to one side there
and mind your legs. Here comes Miss Marie for her
first lesson, and that mutt of a husband of hers can’t
handle her.”

Michael did not understand the scene that followed,
which he witnessed, for the youth led him over to look
on at the arranging of the woman and the four horses.
Yet, from her conduct, he sensed that she, too, was cap-
tive and ill-treated. In truth, she was herself being
trained unwillingly to do a trick. She had carried her-
self bravely right to the moment of the ordeal, but the
sight of the four horses, ranged two and two opposing
her, with the thing patent that she was to hold in her
hands the hooks on the double-trees and form the link
that connected the two spans which were to pull in op-
posite directions — at the sight of this her courage
222 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

failed and she shrank back, drooping and cowering,
her face buried in her hands.

“No, no, Billikens,” she pleaded to the stout though
youthful man who was her husband. ‘I can’t do it.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid.”

“Nonsense, madam,” Collins interposed. ‘‘ The
trick is absolutely safe. And it’s a good one, a money-
maker. Straighten up a moment.” With his hands
he began feeling out her shoulders and back under her
jacket. ‘‘ The apparatus is all right.’ He ran his
hands down her arms. “ Now! Drop the hooks.”
He shook each arm, and from under each of the fluffy
lace cuffs fell out an iron hook fast to a thin cable of
steel that evidently ran up her sleeves— ‘‘ Not that
way! Nobody must see. Put them back. Try it
again. ‘They must come down hidden in your palms.
Like this. See— That's it. That’s the idea.”

She controlled herself and strove to obey, though
ever and anon she cast appealing glances to Billikens,
who stood remote and aloof, his brows wrinkled with
displeasure.

Each of the men driving the harnessed spans lifted
up the double-trees so that the girl could grasp the
hooks. She tried to take hold, but broke down again.

“If anything breaks, my arms will be torn out of
me,” she protested.

“On the contrary,” Collins reassured her. ‘“ You
will lose merely most of your jacket. The worst that
can happen will be the exposure of the trick and the
laugh on you. But the apparatus isn’t going to break.
Let me explain again. The horses do not pull against
you. They pull against each other. The audience
thinks that they are pulling against you— Now try
once more. Take hold the double-trees, and at the
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 223

same moment slip down the hooks and connect —
Now!”

He spoke sharply. She shook the hooks down out
of her sleeves, but drew back from grasping the double-
trees. Collins did not betray his vexation. Instead,
he glanced aside to where the kissing pony and the
kneeling pony were leaving the ring. But the husband
raged at her:

“ By God, Julia, if you throw me down this way!”

“Oh, Dll try, Billikens,” she whimpered. ‘‘ Hon-
estly, Pll try. See! I’m not afraid now!”

She extended her hands and clasped the double-
trees. With a thin writhe of a smile, Collins investi-
gated the insides of her clenched hands to make sure
that the hooks were connected.

‘“Now brace yourself! Spread your legs. And
straighten out.” With his hands he manipulated her
arms and shoulders into position. ‘‘ Remember,
you’ve got to meet the first of the strain with your arms
straight out. After the strain is on, you couldn’t bend
’em if you wanted to. But if the strain catches them
bent, the wire’ll rip the hide off of you. Remember,
straight out, extended, so that they form a straight
line with each other and with the flat of your back and
shoulders— That's it. Ready now.”

‘““Oh, wait a minute,” she begged, forsaking the
position. “I'll do it— oh, I will do it, but, Billikens,
kiss me first, and then I won’t care if my arms are
pulled out.”

The dark youth who held Michael, and others look-
ing on, grinned. Collins dissembled whatever grin
might have troubled for expression, and murmured:

** All the time in the world, madam. The point is,
the first time must come off right. After that you'll
224 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

have the confidence — Bill, you'd better love her up
before she tackles it.”

And Billikens, very angry, very disgusted, very em-
barrassed, obeyed, putting his arms around his wife
and kissing her neither too perfunctorily nor very long.
She was a pretty young thing of a woman, perhaps
twenty years old, with an exceedingly childish, girlish
face, and a slender-waisted, generously moulded body
of fully a hundred and forty pounds.

The embrace and kiss of her husband put courage
into her. She stiffened and steeled herself, and with
compressed lips, as he stepped clear of her, muttered,
“ Ready.”

“Go!” Collins commanded.

The four horses, under the urge of the drivers,
pressed lazily into their collars and began pulling.

“Give ’em the whip!” Collins barked, his eyes on
the girl and noting that the pull of the apparatus was
straight across her.

The lashes fell on the horses’ rumps, and - they
leaped, and surged, and plunged, with their huge steel-
shod hoofs, the size of soup-plates, tearing up the saw-
dust into smoke.

And Billikens forgot himself. The terribleness of
the sight painted the honest anxiety for the woman on
his face. And her face was a kaleidoscope. At the
first, tense and fearful, it was like that of a Christian
martyr meeting the lions, or of a felon falling through
the trap. Next, and quickly, came surprise and relief
in that there was no hurt. And, finally, her face was
proudly happy with a smile of triumph. She even
smiled to Billikens her pride at making good and her
love to him. And Billikens relaxed and looked back
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 225

love and pride, until, on the spur of the second, Harris
Collins broke in:

“This ain’t a smiling act! Get that smile off your
face. The audience has got to think you’re carrying
the pull. Show that you are. Make your face stiff
till it cracks. Show determination, will-power. Show
great muscular effort. Spread your legs more. Bring
up the muscles through your skirt just as if you was
really working. Let ’em pull you this way a bit and
that way a bit. Give to’em. Spread your legs more.
Make a noise on your face as if you was being pulled
to pieces an’ that all that holds you is your will-power
— That’s the idea! That's the stuffi— It’s a win-
ner, Bill! It’s a winner! — Throw the leather into
’em! Make’m jump! Make’m get right down and
pull the daylights out of each other!”

The whips fell on the horses, and the horses strug-
gled in all their hugeness and might to pull away from
the pain of the punishment. It was a spectacle to win
approval from any audience. Each horse averaged
eighteen hundredweight; thus, to the eye of the on-
looker, seven thousand two hundred pounds of strain-
ing horse-flesh seemed wrenching and dragging apart
the slim-waisted, delicately bodied, hundred-and-forty
pound woman in her fancy street costume. It was a
sight to make women in circus audiences scream with
terror and turn their faces away.

“Slack down!” Collins commanded the drivers.
“The lady wins,” he announced, after the manner of a
ringmaster. “— Bill, you’ve got a mint in that
turn — Unhook, madam, unhook! ”

Marie obeyed, and, the hooks still dangling from her
sleeves, made a short run to Billikens, into whose arms
226 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

she threw herself, her own arms folding him about the
neck as she exclaimed before she kissed him:

“Oh, Billikens, I knew I could do it all the time! I
was brave, wasn’t I?”

“A give-away,” Collins’ dry voice broke in on her
ecstasy. ‘Letting all the audience see the hooks.
They must go up your sleeves the moment you let go —
Try it again. And another thing. When you finish
the turn, no chestiness. No making out how easy it
was. Make out it was the very devil. Show yourself
weak, just about to collapse from the strain. Give at
the knees. Make your shoulders cave in. ‘The ring-
master will half step forward to catch you before you
faint. That’s your cue. Beat him to it. Stiffen up
and straighten up with an effort of will-power — will-
power’s the idea, gameness, and all that, and kiss your
hands to the audience and make a weak pitiful sort of a
smile, as though your heart’s been pulled ’most out of
you and you'll have to go to the hospital, but for right
then that you’re game an’ smiling and kissing your
hands to the audience that’s ripping the seats up and
loving you— Get me, madam?— You, Bill, get
the idea! And see she does it— Now, ready! Be
a bit wistful as you look at the horses— That’s it!
Nobody’d guess you’d palmed the hooks and connected
them — Straight out!— Let her go!”

And again the thirty-six hundredweight of horses on
either side pitted its strength against the similar weight
on the other side, and the seeming was that Marie was
the link of woman-flesh being torn asunder.

A third and a fourth time the turn was rehearsed,
and, between turns, Collins sent a man to his office for
the Del Mar telegram.

“You take her now, Bill,” he told Marie’s husband,
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 227

as, telegram in hand, he returned to the problem of
Michael. ‘‘ Give her half a dozen tries more. And
don’t forget, any time any jay farmer thinks he’s got
a span that can pull, bet him on the side your best
span can beat him. ‘That means advance advertising
and some ‘paper.’ It'll be worth it. The ringmas-
ter’ll favour you, and your span can get the first jump.
If I was young and foot-loose, I’d ask nothing better
than to go out with your turn.”

Harris Collins, in the pauses gazing down at
Michael, read Del Mar’s Seattle telegram:

“Sell my dogs. You know what they can do and
what they are worth. Am done with them. De-
duct the board and hold the balance until I see you.
I have the limit of a dog. Every turn I ever pulled
is put in the shade by this one. He's a ten strike.
W ait till you see him.”

Over to one side in the busy arena, Collins contem-
plated Michael.

“* Del Mar was the limit himself,” he told Johnny,
who held Michael by the chain. ‘‘ When he wired me
to sell his dogs it meant he had a better turn, and here's
only one dog to show for it, a damned thoroughbred
at that. He says it’s the limit. It must be, but in
heaven’s name, what is its turn? It’s never done a flip
in its life, much less a double flip. What do you think,
Johnny? Use your head. Suggest something.’

** Maybe it can count,” Johnny advanced.

“And counting-dogs are a drug on the market.
Well, anyway, let’s try.”

And Michael, who knew unerringly how to count. re-
fused to perform.
228 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

“Tf he was a regular dog, he could walk anyway,”
was Collins’ next idea. “ We'll try him.”

And Michael went through the humiliating ordeal
of being jerked erect on his hind legs by Johnny while
Collins with the stick cracked him under the jaw and
across the knees. In his wrath, Michael tried to bite
the master-god, and was jerked away by the chain.
When he strove to retaliate on Johnny, that imperturb-
able youth, with extended arm, merely lifted him into
the air on his chain and strangled him.

“That’s off,’ quoth Collins wearily. ‘“ If he can t
stand on his hind legs he can’t barrel-jump — you've
heard about Ruth, Johnny. She was a winner. Jump
in and out of nailkeps, on her hind legs, without ever
touching with her front ones. She used to do eight
kegs, in one and out into the next. I remember when
she was boarded here and rehearsed. She was a gold-
mine, but Carson didn’t know how to treat her, and she
croaked off with pneumonia at Cripple Creek.”

“Wonder if he can spin plates on his nose,” Johnny
volunteered.

‘“‘Can’t stand up on hind legs,” Collins negatived.
‘“‘ Besides, nothing like the limit in a turn like that.
This dog’s got a specialty. He ain’t ordinary. He
does some unusual thing unusually well, and it’s up to
us to locate it. That comes of Harry dying so incon-
siderately and leaving this puzzlebox on my hands.
I see I just got to devote myself to him. Take him
away, Johnny. Number Eighteen for him. Later on
we can put him in the single compartments.”
CHAPTER XXVI

UMBER EIGHTEEN was a big compartment or
cage in the dog row, large enough with due com-
fort for a dozen Irish terriers like Michael. For Har-
ris Collins was scientific. Dogs on vacation, boarding
at the Cedarwild Animal School, were given every op-
portunity to recuperate from the hardships and wear
and tear of from six months to a year and more on the
road. It was for this reason that the school was so
popular a boarding place for performing animals when
the owners were on vacation or out of “time.” Har-
ris Collins kept his animals clean and comfortable and
guarded from germ diseases. In short, he renovated
them against their next trips out on vaudeville time or
circus engagement.

To the left of Michael, in Number Seventeen, were
five grotesquely clipped French poodles. Michael
could not see them, save when he was being taken out or
brought back, but could smell them and hear them, and,
in his loneliness, he even started a feud of snarling
bickeringness with Pedro, the biggest of them who
acted as clown in their turn. They were aristocrats
among performing animals, and Michael’s feud with
Pedro was not so much real as play-acted. Had he
and Pedro been brought together they would have
made friends in no time. But through the slow monot-
onous drag of the hours they developed a fictitious ex-
citement and interest in mouthing their quarrel which

each knew in his heart of hearts was no quarrel at all.
229
230 MICHAEL-— BROTHER OF JERRY

In Number Nineteen, on Michael’s right, was a sad
and tragic company. ‘They were mongrels, kept spot-
lessly and germicidally clean, who were unattached and
untrained. They composed a sort of reserve of raw
material, to be worked into established troupes when
an extra one or a substitute was needed. This meant
the hell of the arena where the training went on. Also,
in spare moments, Collins, or his assistants, were for-
ever trying them out with all manner of tricks in the
quest of special aptitudes on their parts. ‘Thus, a mon-
grel semblance to a cocker spaniel of a dog was tried
out for several days as a pony-rider who would leap
through paper hoops from the pony’s back and return
upon the back again. After several falls and painful
injuries, it was rejected for the feat and tried out as a
plate-balancer. Failing in this, it was made into a see-
saw dog who, for the rest of the turn, filled into the
background of a troupe of twenty dogs.

Number Nineteen was a place of perpetual quarrel-
ling and pain. Dogs, hurt in the training, licked their
wounds, and moaned, or howled, or were irritable to
excess on the slightest provocation. Always, when a
new dog entered — and this was a regular happening,
for others were continually being taken away to hit the
road — the cage was vexed with quarrels and battles,
until the new dog, by fighting or by non-resistance, had
commanded or been taught its proper place.

Michael ignored the denizens of Number Nineteen.
They could sniff and snarl belligerently across at him,
but he took no notice, reserving his companionship for
the play-acted and perennial quarrel with Pedro. Also,
Michael was out in the arena more often and far longer
hours than any of them.

“ Trust Harry not to make a mistake on a dog,” was
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 231

Collins’ judgment; and constantly he strove to find in
Michael what had made Del Mar declare him a ten
strike and the limit.

Every indignity, in the attempt to find out, was
wreaked upon Michael. They tried him at hurdle-
jumping, at walking on fore-legs, at pony-riding, at
forward flips, and at clowning with other dogs. They
tried him at waltzing, all his legs cord-fastened and
dragged and jerked and slacked under him. They
spiked his collar in some of the attempted tricks to keep
him from lurching from side to side or from falling
forward or backward. They used the whip and the
rattan stick, and twisted his nose. They attempted to
make a goal-keeper of him in a football game between
two teams of pain-driven and pain-bitten mongrels.
And they dragged him up ladders to make him dive
into a tank of water.

Even they essayed to make him “ loop the loop ”—
rushing him down an inclined trough at so high speed
of his legs, accelerated by the slash of whips on his
hindquarters, that, with such initial momentum, had he
put his heart and will into it, he could have successfully
run up the inside of the loop, and across the inside of
the top of it, back-downward, like a fly on the ceiling,
and on and down and around and out.of the loop. But
he refused the will and the heart, and every time, when
he was unable at the beginning to leap sideways out of
the inclined trough, he fell grievously from the inside
of the loop, bruising and injuring himself.

“Tt isn’t that I expect these things are what Harry
had in mind,” Collins would say, for always he was
training his assistants; ‘‘ but that through them I may
get a cue to his speciality, whatever in God’s name it is,
that poor Harry must have known.”
232 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Out of love, at the wish of his love-god, Steward,
Michael would have striven to learn these tricks and in
most of them would have succeeded. But here at Ce-
darwild was no love, and his own thoroughbred nature
made him stubborningly refuse to do under compulsion
what he would gladly have done out of love. Asa
result, since Collins was no thoroughbred of a man, the
clashes between them were for a time frequent and say-
age. In this fighting Michael quickly learned he had
no chance. He was always doomed to defeat. He
was beaten by stereotyped formula before he began.
Never once could he get his teeth into Collins or
Johnny. He was too common-sensed to keep up the
battling, in which he would surely have broken his heart
and his body and gone dumb mad. Instead, he retired
into himself, became sullen, undemonstrative, and,
though he never cowered in defeat, and was always
ready to snarl and bristle his hair in advertisement
that inside he was himself and unconquered, he no
longer burst out in furious anger.

After a time, scarcely ever trying him out on a new
trick, the chain and Johnny were dispensed with, and
with Collins he spent all Collins’ hours in the arena.
He learned, by bitter lessons, that he must follow Col-
lins around; and follow him he did, hating him perpet-
ually and in his own body slowly and subtly poisoning
himself by the juices of his glands that did not secrete
and flow in quite their normal way because of the pres-
sure put upon them by his hatred.

The effect of this, on his body, was not perceptible.
This was because of his splendid constitution and health.
Wherefore, since the effect must be produced some-
where, it was his mind, or spirit, or nature, or brain,
or processes of consciousness, that received it. He
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 233

drew more and more within himself, because morose,
and brooded much. All of which was spiritually un-
healthful. He, who had been so merry-hearted, even
merrier-hearted than his brother Jerry, began to grow
saturnine, and peevish, and ill-tempered. He no
longer experienced impulses to play, to romp around,
to run about. His body became as quiet and con-
trolled as his brain. Human convicts, in prisons, at-
tain this quietude. He could stand by the hour, to
heel to Collins, uninterested, infinitely bored, while Col-
lins tortured some mongrel creature into the perform-
ance of a trick.

And much of this torturing Michael witnessed.
There were the greyhounds, the high-jumpers and wide-
leapers. They were willing to do their best, but Col-
lins and his assistants achieved the miracle, if miracle
it may be called, of making them do better than their
best. Their best was natural. Their better than best
was unnatural, and it killed some and shortened the
lives of all. Rushed to the springboard and the leap,
always, after the take-off, in mid-air, they had to en-
counter an assistant who stood underneath, an ex-
traordinarily long buggy-whip in hand, and lashed them
vigorously. ‘This made them leap from the spring-
board beyond their normal powers, hurting and strain-
ing and injuring them in their desperate attempt to es-
cape the whip-lash, to beat the whip-lash in the air and
be past ere it could catch their flying flanks and sting
them like a scorpion.

“ Never will a jumping dog jump his hardest,” Col-
lins told his assistants, “‘ unless he’s made to. That's
your job. That’s the difference between the jumpers
I turn out and some of these dub amateur-jumping out-
fits that fail to make good even on the bush circuits.”
234 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Collins continually taught. A graduate. ‘from his
school, an assistant who received from him a ‘etter of
recommendation, carried a high credential of a sheep-
skin into the trained-animal world.

“No dog walks naturally on its hind legs, much less
on its forelegs,” Collins would say. ‘“* Dogs ain’t built
that way. They have to be made to, that’s all.
That’s the secret of all animal training. They have
to. You’ve got to make them. That’s your job.
Make them. Anybody who can’t, can’t make good in
this factory. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, and
get busy.”

Michael saw, without fully appreciating, the use of
the spiked saddle on the bucking mule. The mule was
fat and good-natured the first day of its appearance in
the arena. It had been a pet mule in a family of chil-
dren until Collins’ keen eyes rested on it; and it had
known only love and kindness and much laughter for
its foolish mulishness. But Collins’ eyes had read
health, vigour, and long life, as well as laughableness
of appearance and action in the long-eared hybrid.

Barney Barnato he was renamed that first day in
the arena, when, also, he received the surprise of his
life. He did not dream of the spike in the saddle, nor,
while the saddle was empty, did it press against him.
But the moment Samuel Bacon, a negro tumbler, got
into the saddle, the spike sank home. He knew about
it and was prepared. But Barney, taken by surprise,
arched his back in the first buck he had ever made. It
was so prodigious a buck that Collins’ eyes snapped
with satisfaction, while Sam landed a dozen feet away
in the sawdust.

“Make good like that,” Collins approved, “ and
when I sell the mule you’ll go along as part of the turn,
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 235

or I tiffs my guess. And it will be some turn.
There'll’be at least two more like you, who'll have to
be nervy and know how to fall. Get busy. Try
him again.”

And Barney entered into the hell of education that
later won his purchaser more time than he could deliver
over the best vaudeville circuits in Canada and the
United States. Day after day Barney took his torture.
Not for long did he carry the spiked saddle. Instead,
bareback, he received the negro on his back, and was
spiked and set bucking just the same; for the spike was
now attached to Sam’s palm by means of leather straps.
In the end, Barney became so “‘ touchy ” about his back
that he almost began bucking if a person as much as
looked at it. Certainly, aware of the stab of pain, he
started bucking, whirling, and kicking whenever the first
signal was given of some one trying to mount him.

At the end of the fourth week, two other tumblers,
white youths, being secured, the complete, builded turn
was performed for the benefit of a slender, French-
looking gentleman with waxed moustaches. In the end
he bought Barney, without haggling, at Collins’ own
terms and engaged Sammy and the other two tumblers
as well. Collins staged the trick properly, as it would
be staged in the theatre, even had ready and set up all
* the necessary apparatus, and himself acted as ringmas-
ter while the prospective purchaser looked on.

Barney, fat as butter, humorous-looking, was led
into the square of cloth-covered steel cables and cloth-
covered steel uprights. The halter was removed and
he was turned loose. Immediately he became restless,
the ears were laid back, and he was a picture of vicious-
ness.

“Remember one thing,” Collins told the man who
236 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

might buy. “If you buy him, you'll be ringmaster,
and you must never, never, spike him. When he comes
to know that, you can always put your hands on him any
time and control him. He’s good-natured at heart, and
he’s the gratefulest mule I’ve ever seen in the business.
He’s just got to love you, and hate the other three.
And one warning: if he goes real bad and starts biting,
you'll have to pull out his teeth and feed him soft mashes
and crushed grain that’s steamed. I'll give you the
recipe for the digestive dope you'll have to put in.
Now — watch! ”

Collins stepped into the ring and caressed Barney,
who responded in the best of tempers and tried affec-
tionately to nudge and shove past on the way out of
the ropes to escape what he knew was coming.

“See,” Collins exposited. “‘ He’s got confidence in
me. Hetrustsme. He knows I’ve never spiked him
and that I always save him in the end. I’m his good
Samaritan, and you'll have to be the same to him if you
buy him— Now I'll give you your spiel. Of course,
you can improve on it to suit yourself.”’

The master trainer walked out of the rope square,
stepped forward to an imaginary line, and looked down
and out and up as if he were gazing at the pit of the
orchestra beneath him, across at the body of the house,
and up into the galleries.

“* Ladies and gentlemen,” he addressed the sawdust
emptiness before him as if it were a packed audience.
“ This is Barney Barnato, the biggest joker of a mule
ever born. He’s as affectionate as a Newfoundland
puppy — just watch —”

Stepping back to the ropes, Collins extended his hand
across them, saying: ‘‘ Come here, Barney, and show
all these people who you love best.”’
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 237

And Barney twinkled forward on his small hoofs,
nozzled the open hand, and came closer, nozzling up
the arm, nudging Collins’ shoulder with his nose, half-
rearing as if to get across the ropes and embrace him.
What he was really doing was begging and entreating
Collins to take him away out of the squared ring from
the torment he knew awaited him.

“That’s what it means by never spiking him,” Col-
lins shot at the man with the waxed moustaches, as he
stepped forward to the imaginary line in the sawdust,
above the imaginary pit of the orchestra, and addressed
the imaginary house.

““Ladies and gentlemen: Barney Barnato is a
josher. Hle’s got forty tricks up each of his four legs,
and the man don’t live that he’ll let stick on his back
for sixty seconds. I’m telling you this in fair warning,
before I make my proposition. Looks easy, doesn’t
it? — one minute, the sixtieth part of an hour, to be
precise, sixty seconds, to stick on the back of an affec-
tionate josher mule like Barney. Well, come on you
boys and broncho riders. ‘To anybody who sticks on
for one minute J shall immediately pay the sum of fifty
dollars; for two whole, entire minutes, the sum of five
hundred dollars.”

This was the cue for Samuel Bacon, who advanced
across the sawdust, awkward and grinning and embar-
rassed, and apparently was helped up to the stage by
the extended hand of Collins.

‘Ts your life insured? ” Collins demanded.

Sam shook his head and grinned.

“Then what are you tackling this for?”

“For the money.” saidSam. “I jes’ naturally needs
it in my business.”

“ What is your business? ”
238 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

““None of your business, mister.” Here Sam
grinned ingratiating apology for his impertinence and
shuffled on his legs. ‘I might be investin’ in lottery
tickets, only I ain’t. Do I get the money? — that’s
our business.”

“Sure you do,” Collins replied. ‘‘ When you earn
it. Stand over there to one side and wait a moment —
Ladies and gentlemen, if you will forgive the delay, 1
must ask for more volunteers—- Any more takers?
Fifty dollars for sixty seconds. Almost a dollar a sec-
ond... if you win. Better! I'll make it a dollar
a second. Sixty dollars to the boy, man, woman, or
girl who sticks on Barney’s back for one minute. Come
on, ladies. Remember this is the day of equal suf-
frage. Here’s where you put it over on your husbands,
brothers, sons, fathers, and grandfathers. Age is no
limit — Grandma, do I get you?” he uttered directly
to what must have been a very elderly lady in a near
front row. ‘‘ You see” (to the prospective buyer),
‘‘T’ve got the entire patter for you. You could do it
with two rehearsals, and you can do them right here,
free of charge, part of the purchase.”

The next two tumblers crossed the sawdust and were
helped by Collins up to the imaginary stage.

‘You can change the patter according to the cities
you’re in,” he explained to the Frenchman. ‘“ It’s easy
to find out the names of the most despised and toughest
neighbourhoods or villages, and have'the boys hail from
them.”

Continuing the patter, Collins put the performance
on. Sam’s first attempt was brief. He was not half
on when he was flung to the ground. Half a dozen at-
tempts, quickly repeated, were scarcely better, the last
one permitting him to remain on Barney’s back nearly
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 239

ten seconds, and culminating in a ludicrous fall over
Barney’s head. Sam withdrew from the ring, shaking
his head dubiously and holding his side as if in pain.
The other lads followed. Expert tumblers, they exe-
cuted most amazing and side-splitting falls. Sam re-
covered and came back. Toward the last, all three
made a combined attack on Barney, striving to mount
him simultaneously from different slants of approach.
They were scattered and flung like chaff, sometimes fall-
ing heaped together. Once, the two white boys, stand-
ing apart as if recovering breath, were mowed down by
Sam’s flying body.

‘“* Remember, this is a real mule,’’ Collins told the
man with the waxed moustaches. “If any outsiders
butt in for a hack at the money, all the better. They'll
get theirs quick. The man don’t live who can stay on
his back a minute . . . if you keep him rehearsed with
the spike. He must live in fear of the spike. Never
let him slow up on it. Never let him forget it. If
you lay off any time for a few days, rehearse him with
the spike a couple of times just before you begin again,
or else he might forget it and queer the turn by ambling
around with the first outside rube that mounts him.

“* And just suppose some rube, all hooks of arms and
legs and hands, is managing to stick on anyway, and
the minute is getting near up. Just have Sam here, or
any of your three, slide in and spike him from the palm.
That'll be good night for Mr. Rube. You can’t lose,
and the audience ’Il laugh its fool head off.

“Now for the climax! Watch! This always
brings the house down— Get busy you two! —
Sam! Ready!”

While the white boys threatened to mount Barney
from either side and kept his attention engaged, Sam,
240 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

from outside, in a sudden fit of rage and desperation,
made a flying dive across the ropes and from in front
locked arms and legs about Barney’s neck, tucking his
own head close against Barney’s head. And Barney
reared up on his hind legs, as he had long since learned
from the many palm-spikings he had received on head
and neck.

“It’s a corker,” Collins announced, as Barney, on his
hind legs, striking vainly with his fore, struggled about
the ring. ‘‘ There’s no danger. He'll never fall over
backwards. He’s a mule, and he’s too wise. Besides,
even if he does, all Sam has to do is let go and fall
clear.”

The turn over, Barney gladly accepted the halter and
was led out of the square ring and up to the Frenchman.

“Long life there —look him over,” Collins con-
tinued to sell, “It’s a full turn, including yourself,
four performers, besides the mule, and besides any
suckers from the audience. It’s all ready to put on the
boards, and dirt cheap at five thousand.”

The Frenchman winced at the sum.

‘“* Listen to arithmetic,” Collins went on. ‘“‘ You can
sell at twelve hundred a week at least, and you can net
eight hundred certain. Six weeks of the net pays for
the turn, and you can book a hundred weeks right off
the bat and have them . yelling for more. Wish I was
young and footloose. ° D d take it out on the road my-
self and coin a fortune.”

And Barney was sold, and passed out of the Cedar-
wild Animal School to the slavery of the spike and to
be provocative of much joy and laughter in the pleas-
ure-theatres of the world.
CHAPTER XXVII

HE thing is, Johnny, you can’t love dogs into
doing professional tricks, which is the differ-
ence between dogs and women,” Collins told his assist-
ant. “ You know how it is with any dog. You love
it up into lying down and rolling over and playing dead
and all such dub tricks. And then one day you show
him off to your friends, and the conditions are changed,
and he gets all excited and foolish, and you can’t get
him to do a thing. Children are like that. Lose
their heads in company, forget all their training, and
throw you down.

““ Now on the stage, they got real tricks to do, tricks
they don’t like, tricks they hate. And they mightn’t be
feeling good — got a touch of cold, or mange, or are
sour-balled. What are you going to do? Apologise
to the audience? Besides, on the stage, the pro-
gramme runs like clockwork. Got to start performing
on the tick of the clock, and anywhere from one to
seven turns a day, all depending what kind of time
you've got. The point is, your dogs have got to get
right up and perform. No loving them, no begging
them, no waiting on them. And there’s only the one
way. ‘They've got to know when you start, you mean
it.”

“And dogs ain’t fools,’ Johnny opined. ‘‘ They
know when you mean anything, an’ when you don’t.”

“Sure thing,” Collins nodded approbation. ‘ The

moment you slack up on them is the moment they slack
241
242 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

up in their work. You get soft, and see how quick
they begin making mistakes in their tricks. You've got
to keep the fear of God over them. If you don’t, they
won’t, and you'll find yourself begging for spotted time
on the bush circuits.”

Half an hour later, Michael heard, though he under-
stood no word of it, the master-trainer laying another
law down to another assistant.

“Cross-breds and mongrels are what’s needed,
Charles. Not one thoroughbred in ten makes good,
unless he’s got the heart of a coward, and that’s just
what distinguishes them from mongrels and cross-breds.
Like race-horses, they’re hot-blooded. They’ve got
sensitiveness, and pride. Pride’s the worst. You
listen to me. I was born into the business and I’ve
studied it all my life. I’m a success. ‘There’s only
one reason I’m a success—-I KNOW. Get that. I
KNOW.

“‘ Another thing is that cross-breds and mongrels are
cheap. You needn't be afraid of losing them or work-
ing them out. You can always get more, and cheap.
And they ain’t the trouble in teaching. You can throw
the fear of God into them. ‘That’s what’s the matter
with the thoroughbreds. You can’t throw the fear of
God into them.

‘““ Give a mongrel a real licking, and what’s he do?
He’ll kiss your hand, and be obedient, and crawl on his
belly to do what you want him to do. They’re slave
dogs, that’s what mongrels are. They ain’t got cour-
age, and you don’t want courage in a performing dog.
You want fear. Now you give a thoroughbred a lick-
ing and see what happens. Sometimes they die. I’ve
known them to die. And if they don’t die, what do
they do? Either they go stubborn, or vicious, or both.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 243

Sometimes they just go to biting and foaming. You
can kill them, but you can’t keep them from biting and
foaming. Or else they'll go straight stubborn.
They’re the worst. They’re the passive resisters —
that’s what I call them. They won’t fight back. You
can flog them to death, but it won’t buy you anything.
They’re like Christians that used to be burned at the
stake or boiled in oil. They’ve got their opinions, and
nothing you can do will change them. They'll die
first. ... Andtheydo. I’vehadthem. I was learn-
ing myself . . . and I learned to leave the thorough-
bred alone. They beat you out. They get your goat.
You never get theirs. And they’re time-wasters, and
patience-wasters, and they’re expensive.

“Take this terrier here.’ Collins nodded at
Michael, who stood several feet back of him, morosely
regarding the various activities of the arena. ‘ He’s
both kinds of a thoroughbred, and therefore no good.
I’ve never given him a real licking, and I never will.
It would be a waste of time. He'll fight if you press
him too hard. And he’ll die fighting you. He’s too
sensible to fight if you don’t press him too hard. And
if you don’t press him too hard, he’ll just stay as he is,
and refuse to learn anything. I’d chuck him right now,
except Del Mar couldn’t make a mistake. Poor Harry
knew he had a specialty, and a crackerjack, and it’s up
to me to find it.”

‘Wonder if he’s a lion dog,” Charles suggested.

“ He’s the kind that ain’t afraid of lions,’ Collins
concurred. ‘‘ But what sort of a specialty trick could
he do with lions? — Stick his head in their mouths?
I never heard of a dog doing that, and it’s an idea.
But we can try him. We've tried him at ’most every-
thing else.”
244 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY
“ There’s old Hannibal,” said Charles. ‘ He used

to take a woman’s head in his mouth with the old Sales-
Sinker Shows.”

“But old Hannibal’s getting cranky,” Collins ob-
jected. ‘“‘ I’ve been watching him and trying to get rid
of him. Any animal is liable to go off its nut any
time, especially wild ones. You see, the life ain’t nat-
ural. And when they do, it’s good night. You lose
your investment, and, if you don’t know your business,
maybe your life.”

And Michael might well have been tried out on Han-
nibal and have lost his head inside that animal’s huge
mouth, had not the good fortune of apropos-ness inter-
vened. For, the next moment, Collins was listening to
the hasty report of his lion-and-tiger keeper. The man
who reported was possibly forty years of age, although
he looked half as old again. He was a withered-faced
man, whose face-lines, deep and vertical, looked as if
they had been clawed there by some beast other than
himself.

“Old Hannibal is going crazy,’’ was the burden of
his report.

“ Nonsense,” said Harris Collins. “‘ It’s you that’s
getting old. He’s got your goat, that’s all. I'll show
it to you—- Come on, along, all of you. We'll take
fifteen minutes off of the work, and I’ll show you a show
never seen in the show-ring. It’d be worth ten thou-
sand a week anywhere . . . only it wouldn’t last. Old
Hannibal would turn up his toes out of sheer hurt feel-
ings — Come on, everybody! All hands! Fifteen
minutes’ recess! ”’

And Michael followed at the heels of his latest and
most terrible master, the twain leading the procession
of employés and visiting professional animal men who
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 245

trooped along behind. As was well known, when Har-
ris Collins performed he performed only for the élite,
for the hoi-polloi of the trained-animal world.

The lion-and-tiger man, who had clawed his own face
with the beast-claws of his nature, whimpered protest
when he saw his employer’s preparation to enter Han-
nibal’s cage; for the preparation consisted merely in
equipping himself with a broom-handle.

Hannibal was old, but he was reputed the largest lion
in captivity, and he had not lost his teeth. He was
pacing up and down the length of his cage, heavily and
swaying, after the manner of captive animals, when the
unexpected audience erupted into the space before his
cage. Yet he took no notice whatever, merely continu-
ing his pacing, swinging his head from side to side,
turning lithely at each end of his cage, with all the air
of being bent on some determined purpose.

‘“‘That’s the way he’s been goin’ on for two days,”
whimpered his keeper. ‘‘ An’ when you go near’m, he
just reaches for you. Look what he done to me.”
The man held up his right arm, the shirt and undershirt
ripped to shreds and red parallel grooves, slightly
clotted with blood, showing where the claws had broken
the skin. ‘An’ I wasn’t inside. He did it through
the bars, with one swipe, when I was startin’ to clean
his cage. Now if he’d only roar, or something. But
he never makes a sound, just keeps on goin’ up an’
down.”

‘‘Where’s the key?” Collins demanded. “ Good.
Now let me in. And lock it afterward and take the
key out. Lose it, forget it, throw it away. I'll have
all the time in the world to wait for you to find it to let
me out.”

And Harris Collins, a sliver of a less than a light-
246 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

weight man, who lived in mortal fear that at table the
mother of his children would crown him with a plate
of hot soup, went into the cage, before the critical audi-
ence of his employés and professional visitors, armed
only with a broom-handle. Further, the door was
locked behind him, and, the moment he was in, keeping
a casual but alert eye on the pacing Hannibal, he re-
iterated his order to lock the door and remove the key.

Half a dozen times the lion paced up and down, de-
clining to take any notice of the intruder. And then,
when his back was turned as he went down the cage,
Collins stepped directly in the way of his return path
and stood still. Coming back and finding his way
blocked, Hannibal did not roar. His muscular move-
ments sliding each into the next like so much silk of
tawny hide, he struck at the obstacle that confronted
his way. But Collins, knowing ahead of the lion what
the lion was going to do, struck first, with the broom-
handle rapping the beast on its tender nose. Hannibal
recoiled with a flash of snarl and flashed back a second
sweeping stroke of his mighty paw. Again he was an-
ticipated, and the rap on his nose sent him into recoil.

‘“ Got to keep his head down — that way lies safety,”
the master-trainer muttered in a low, tense voice —
‘Ah, would you? Take it, then.”

Hannibal, in wrath,-crouching for a spring, had
lifted his head. The consequent blow on his nose
forced his head down to the floor, and the king of
beasts, nose still to floor, backed away with mouth-
snarls and throat-and-chest noises.

“* Follow up,” Collins enunciated, himself following,
rapping the nose again sharply and accelerating the
lion’s backward retreat.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 247

“Man is the boss because he’s got the head that
thinks,” Collins preached the lesson; “and he’s just
got to make his head boss his body, that’s all, so that
he can think one thought ahead of the animal, and act
one act ahead. Watch me get his goat. He ain’t the
hard case he’s trying to make himself believe he is.
And that idea, which he’s just starting, has got to be
taken out of him. The broomstick will do it.
Watch.”

He backed the animal down the length of the cage,
continually rapping at the nose and keeping it down to
the floor.

‘* Now I’m going to pile him into the corner.”

And Hannibal, snarling, growling, and spitting,
ducking his head and with short pawstrokes trying to
ward off the insistent broomstick, backed obediently
into the corner, crumpled up his hind-parts, and tried to
withdraw his corporeal body within itself in a pain-
urged effort to make it smaller. And always he kept
his nose down and himself harmless for a spring. In
the thick of it he slowly raised his nose and yawned.
Nor, because it came up slowly, and because Collins
had anticipated the yawn by being one thought ahead
of Hannibal in Hannibal’s own brain, was the nose
rapped.

‘“‘That’s the goat,” Collins announced, for the first
time speaking in a hearty voice in which was no vibra-
tion of strain. ‘‘ When a lion yawns in the thick of a
fight, you know he ain’t crazy. He’s sensible. He’s
got to be sensible, or he’d be springing or lashing out
instead of yawning. He knows he’s licked, and that
yawn of his merely says: ‘I quit. For the love of
Mike leave me alone. My nose is awful sore. I’d
248 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

like to get you, but I can’t. Tl do anything you want, .
and I'll be dreadful good, but don’t hit my poor sore
nose.’

“ But man is the boss, and he can’t afford to be so
easy. Drive the lesson home that you’re boss. Rub
it in. Don’t stop when he quits. Make him swallow
the medicine and lick the spoon. Make him kiss your
foot on his neck holding him down in the dirt. Make
him kiss the stick that’s beaten him — Watch!”

And Hannibal, the largest lion in captivity, with all
his teeth, captured out of the jungle after he was full
grown, a veritable king of beasts, before the menacing
broomstick in the hands of a sliver of a man backed
deeper and more crumpled together into the corner.
His back was bowed up, the very opposite muscular
position to that for a spring, while he drew his head
more and more down and under his chest in utter ab-
jectness, resting his weight on his elbows and shielding
his poor nose with his massive paws, a single stroke of
which could have ripped the life of Collins quivering
from his body.

‘* Now he might be tricky,”’ Collins announced, “‘ but
he’s got to kiss my foot and the'stick just the same.
Watch!”

He lifted and advanced his left foot, not tentatively
and hesitatingly, but quickly and firmly, bringing it to
rest on the lion’s neck. The stick was poised to strike,
one act ahead of the lion’s next possible act, as Col-
lins’ mind was one thought ahead of the lion’s next
thought.

And Hannibal did the forecasted and predestined.
His head flashed up, huge jaws distended, fangs gleam-
ing, to sink into the slender, silken-hosed ankle above
the tan low-cut shoes. But the fangs never sank.
i’. MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY 249

‘They were scarcely started a fifth of the way of the dis-
tance, when the waiting broomstick rapped on his nose
and made him sink it in the floor under his chest and
cover it again with his paws.

“* He ain’t crazy,” said Collins. ‘‘ He knows, from
the little he knows, that I know more than him and
that I’ve got him licked to a fare-you-well. If he was
crazy, he wouldn’t know, and I wouldn’t know his mind
either, and I wouldn’t be that one jump ahead of him,
and he’d get me and mess the whole cage up with my
insides.”

He prodded Hannibal with the end of the broom-
handle, after each prod poising it for a stroke. And
the great lion lay and roared in helplessness, and at
each prod exposed his nose more and lifted it higher,
until, at the end, his red tongue ran out between his
fangs and licked the shoe resting none too gently on his
neck, and, after that, licked the broomstick that had
administered all the punishment.

“ Going to be a good lion now?” Collins demanded,
roughly rubbing his foot back and forth on Hannibal's
neck.

Hannibal could not refrain from growling his hatred.

“‘ Going to be a good lion?” Collins repeated, rub-
bing his foot back and forth still more roughly.

And Hannibal exposed his nose and with his red
tongue licked again the tan shoe, and the slender, tan-
silken ankle that he could have destroyed with one
crunch.
CHAPTER XXVIII

NE friend Michael made among the many animals

he encountered in the Cedarwild School, and a
strange, sad friendship it was. Sara she was called,
a small, green monkey from South America, who
seemed to have been born hysterical and indignant, and
with no appreciation of humour. Sometimes, follow-
ing Collins about the arena, Michael would meet her
while she waited to be tried out on some new turn.
For, unable or unwilling to try, she was forever being
tried out on turns, or, with little herself to do, as a
filler-in for more important performers.

But she always caused confusion, either chattering
and squealing with fright or bickering at the other ani-
mals. Whenever they attempted to make her do any-
thing, she protested indignantly, and if they tried force
her squalls and cries excited all the animals in the arena
and set the work back.

“Never mind,” said Collins finally. ‘She ‘Il go
into the next monkey band we make up.”

This was the last and most horrible fate that could
befall a monkey on the stage, to be a helpless marion-
ette, compelled by unseen sticks and wires, poked and
jerked by concealed men, to move and act throughout
an entire turn.

But it was before this doom was passed upon her that
Michael made her acquaintance. Their first meeting,
she sprang suddenly at him, a screaming, chattering

little demon, threatening him with nails and teeth.
250
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 251

And Michael, already deep-sunk in habitual morose-
ness, merely looked at her calmly, not a ripple to his
neck hair nor a prick to his ears. The next moment,
her fuss and fury quite ignored, she saw him turn his
head away. This gave her pause. Had he sprung at
her, or snarled, or shown any anger or resentment such
as did the other dogs when so treated by her, she would
have shrilled and screeched and raised a hubbub of
expostulation, crying for help and calling all men to
witness how she was being unwarrantedly attacked.

As it was, Michael’s unusual behaviour seemed to
fascinate her. She approached him tentatively, with-
out further racket; and the boy who had her in charge
slacked the thin chain that held her.

“* Hope he breaks her back for her,” was his unholy
wish; for he hated Sara intensely, desiring to be with
the lions or elephants rather than dancing attendance
on a cantankerous female monkey there was no reason-
ing with.

And because Michael took no notice of her, she
made up to him. It was not long before she had her
hands on him, and, quickly after that, an arm around
his neck and her head snuggled against his. Then
began her interminable tale. Day after day, catching
him at odd times in the ring, she would cling closely to
him and in a low voice} running on and on, never paus-
ing for breath, tell him, for all he knew, the story of
her life. At any rate, it sounded like the story of her
woes and of all the indignities which had been wreaked
upon her. It was one long complaint, and some of it
might have been about her health, for she sniffed and
coughed a great deal and her chest seemed always to
hurt ‘her from the way she had of continually and
gingerly pressing the palm of her hand to it. Some-
252 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

times, however, she would cease her complaining, and
love and mother him, uttering occasional series of gen-
tle mellow sounds that were like croonings.

Hers was the only hand of affection that was laid
on him at Cedarwild, and she was ever gentle, never
pinching him, never pulling his ears. By the same
token, he was the only friend she had; and he came to
look forward to meeting her in the course of the morn-
ing work —and this, despite that every meeting al-
ways concluded in a scene, when she fought with her
keeper against being taken away. Her cries and pro-
tests would give way to whimperings and wailings,
while the men about laughed at the strangeness of the
love affair between her and the Irish terrier.

But Harris Collins tolerated, even encouraged, their
friendship.

“The two sour-balls get along best together,” he
said. ‘“ And it does them good. Gives them some-
thing to live for, and that way lies health. But some
day, mark my words, she’ll turn on him and give him
what for, and their friendship will get a terrible smash.”

And half of it he spoke with the voice of prophecy,
and, though she never turned on Michael, the day in
the world was written when their friendship would
truly receive a terrible smash.

““Now seals are too wise,” Collins explained one
day, in a sort of extempore lecture to several of his
apprentice trainers. ‘‘ You’ve just got to toss fish to
them when they perform. If you don’t, they won't,
and there’s an end of it. But you can’t depend on
feeding dainties to dogs, for instance, though you can
make a young, untrained pig perform creditably by
means of a nursing bottle hidden up your sleeve.

“* All you have to do is think it over. Do you think
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 253

you can make those greyhounds extend themselves with
the promise of a bite of meat? It’s the whip that
makes them extend— Look over there at Billy
Green. There ain’t another way to teach that dog
that trick. You can’t love her into doing it. You
can’t pay her to doit. There’s only one way, and that’s
make her.”

Billy Green, at the moment, was training a tiny
nondescript frizzly-haired dog. Always, on the stage,
he made a hit by drawing from his pocket a tiny dog
that would do this particular trick. The last one had
died from a wrenched back, and he was now breaking
in a new one. He was catching the little mite by the
hind-legs and tossing it up in the air, where, making a
half-flip and descending head first, it was supposed to
alight with its fore-feet on his hand and there balance
itself, its hind feet and body above it in the air. Again
and again he stooped, caught her hind-legs and flung
her up into the half-turn. Almost frozen with fear,
she vainly strove to effect the trick. Time after time,
and every time, she failed to make the balance. Some-
times she fell crumpled; several times she all but struck
the ground; and, once, she did strike, on her side and
so hard as to knock the breath out of her. Her mas-
ter, taking advantage of the moment to wipe the sweat
from his streaming face, nudged her about with his toe
till she staggered weakly to her feet.

“The dog was never born that ’d learn that trick
for the promise of a bit of meat,’’ Collins went on.
‘“* Any more than was the dog ever born that ’d walk on
its fore-legs without having its hind-legs rapped up in
the air with the stick a thousand times. Yet you take
that trick there. It’s always a winner, especially with
the women — so cunning, you know, so adorably cute,
254 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

to be yanked out of its beloved master’s pocket and to
have such trust and confidence in him as to allow her-
self to be tossed around that way. Trust and conf-
dence hell! He’s put the fear of God into her, that’s
what.

‘¢ Just the same, to dig a dainty out of your pocket
once in a while and give an animal a nibble, always
makes a hit with the audience. That’s about all it’s
good for, yet it’s a good stunt. Audiences like to be-
lieve that the animals enjoy doing their tricks, and that
they are treated like pampered darlings, and that they
just love their masters to death. But God help all of
us and our meal tickets if the audiences could see be-
hind the scenes. Every trained-animal turn would be
taken off the stage instanter, and we'd be all hunting
for a job.

“Yes, and there’s rough stuff no end pulled off on
the stage right before the audience’s eyes. The best
fooler I ever saw was Lottie’s. She had a bunch of
trained cats. She loved them to death right before
everybody, especially if a trick wasn’t going good.
What'd she do? She’d take that cat right up in her
arms and kiss it. And when she put it down it’d per-
form the trick all right all right while the audience ap-
plauded its silly head off for the kindness and humane-
ness she’d shown. Kiss it? Did she? I'll tell you
what she did. She bit its nose.

“Eleanor Pavalo learned the trick from Lottie, and
used it herself on her toy dogs. And many a dog
works on the stage in a spiked collar, and a clever man
can twist a dog’s nose and nobody in the audience any
the wiser. But it’s the fear that counts. It’s what the
dog knows he'll get afterward when the turn’s over
that keeps most of them straight.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 255

“Remember Captain Roberts and his great Danes.
They weren't pure-breds, though. He must have had
a dozen of them —toughest bunch of brutes I ever
saw. He boarded them here twice. You couldn’t go
among them without a club in your hand. I had a
Mexican lad laid up by them. He was a tough one,
too. But they got him down and nearly ate him. The
doctors took over forty stitches in him and shot him
full of that Pasteur dope for hydrophobia. And he
always will limp with his right leg from what the dogs
did to him. I tell you, they were the limit. And yet,
every time the curtain went up, Captain Roberts
brought the house down with the first stunt. Those
dogs just flocked all over him, loving him to death, from
the looks of it. And were they loving him? They
hated him. I’ve seen him, right here in the cage at
Cedarwild, wade into them with a club and whale the
stufing impartially out of all of them. Sure, they
loved him not. Just a bit of the same old aniseed was
what he used. He’d soak small pieces of meat in
aniseed oil and stick them in his pockets. But that
stunt would only work with a bunch of giant dogs like
his. It was their size that got it across. Had they
been a lot of ordinary dogs it would have looked silly.
And, besides, they didn’t do their regular tricks for
aniseed. They did it for Captain Roberts’ club. He
was a tough bird himself.

“* He used to say that the art of training animals was
the art of inspiring them with fear. One of his as-
sistants told me a nasty one about him afterwards.
They had an off month in Los Angeles, and Captain
Roberts got it into his head he was going to make a
dog balance a silver dollar on the neck of a champagne
bottle. Now just think that over and try to see your-
256 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

self loving a dog into doing it. The assistant said he
wore out about as many sticks as dogs, and that he
wore out half a dozen dogs. He used to get them
from the public pound at two and a half apiece, and
every time one died he had another ready and waiting.
And he succeeded with the seventh dog. I'm telling
you, it learned to balance a dollar on the neck of a bot-
tle. And it died from the effects of the learning within
a week after he put it on the stage. Abscesses in the
lungs, from the stick.

‘“‘ There was an Englishman came over when I was a
youngster. He had ponies, monkeys, and dogs. He
bit the monkey’s ears, so that, on the stage, all he had
to do was make a move as if he was going to bite and
they’d quit their fooling and be good. He had a big
chimpanzee that was a winner. It could turn four
somersaults as fast as you could count on the back of a
galloping pony, and he used to have to give it a real
licking, about twice a week. And sometimes the lick-
ings were too stiff, and the monkey’d get sick and have
to lay off. But the owner solved the problem. He
got to giving him a little licking, a mere taste of the
stick, regular, just before the turn came on. And that
did it in his case, though with some other case the
monkey most likely would have got sullen and not acted
at all.”

It was on that day that Harris Collins sold a valu-
able bit of information to a lion man who needed it.
It was off time for him, and his three lions were board-
ing at Cedarwild. Their turn was an exciting and even
terrifying one when viewed from the audience; for,
jumping about and roaring, they were made to appear
as if about to destroy the slender little lady who per-
formed with them and seemed to hold them in subjec-
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 257

tion only by her indomitable courage and a small rid-
ing switch in her hand.

“‘The trouble is they’re getting too used to it,” the
man complained. ‘Isadora can’t prod them up any
more. They just won’t make a showing.”

“TI know them,” Collins nodded. ‘“* They’re pretty
old now, and they’re spirit-broken besides. Take old
Sark there. He’s had so many blank cartridges fired
into his ears that he’s stone deaf. And Selim — he
lost his heart with his teeth. A Portuguese fellow who
was handling him for the Barnum and Bailey show did
that for him. You've heard?”

“T’ve often wondered,” the man shook his head.
“Tt must have been a smash.”

“It was. ‘The Portuguese did it with an iron bar.
Selim was sulky and took a swipe at him with his paw,
and he whopped it to him full in the mouth just as he
opened it to let out a roar. He told me about it him-
self. Said Selim’s teeth rattled on the floor like dom-
inoes. But he shouldn’t have done it. It was destroy-
ing valuable property. Anyway, they fired him for it.”

“Well, all three of them’ ain’t worth much to me
now,” said their owner. ‘‘ They won’t play up to
Isadora in that roaring and rampaging at the end. It
really made the turn. It was our finale, and we always
got a great hand for it. Say, what am I going to do
about it anyway? Ditch it? Or get some young
lions?”

““Tsadora would be safer with the old ones,” Collins
said.

“Too safe,” Isadora’s husband objected. ‘ Of
course, with younger lions, the work and responsibility
piles up on me. But we’ve got to make our living, and —
this turn’s about busted.”
258 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Harris Collins shook his head.

“What d’ye mean? — what’s the idea?” the man
demanded eagerly.

“‘ They'll live for years yet, seeing how captivity has
agreed with them,” Collins elucidated. “If you in-
vest in young lions you run the risk of having them pass
out on you. And you can go right on pulling the trick
off with what you’ve got. All you’ve got to do is take
my advice... .”

The master-trainer paused, and the lion man opened
his mouth to speak.

“* Which will cost you,’’ Collins went on deliberately,
“ say three hundred dollars.”

“Just for some advice?” the other asked quickly.

“Which I guarantee will work. What would you
have to pay for three new lions? MHere’s where you
make money at three hundred. And it’s the simplest
of advice. I can tell it to you in three words, which
is at the rate of a hundred dollars a word, and one of
the words is ‘ the.’”

“Too steep for me,” the other objected. ‘I’ve got
to make a living.”

“‘So have I,” Collins assured him. ‘‘ That’s why
I’m here. I’ma specialist, and you’re paying a special-
ist’s fee. You'll be as mad as a hornet when I tell you,
it’s that simple; and for the life of me I can’t understand
why you don’t already know it.”

“* And if it don’t work?” was the dubious query.

“Tf it don’t work, you don’t pay.”

“Well, shoot it along,” the lion man surrendered.

“ Wire the cage,” said Collins.

At first the man could not comprehend; then the
light began to break on him.

* You tian . eat"
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 259

“Just that,” Collins nodded. ‘“ And nobody need
be the wiser. Dry batteries will do it beautifully.
You can install them nicely under the cage floor. All
Isadora has to do when she’s ready is to step on the
button; and when electricity shoots through their feet,
if they don’t go up in the air and rampage and roar
around to beat the band, not only can you keep the
three hundred, but I'll give you three hundred more.
I know. I’ve seen it done, and it never misses fire.
It’s just as though they were dancing on a red hot stove.
Up they go, and every time they come down they burn
their feet again. :

** But you'll have to put the juice into them slowly,”
Collins warned. ‘I'll show you how to do the wir-
ing. Just a weak battery first, so as they can work up
to it, and then stronger and stronger to the curtain.
‘And they never get used to it. As long as they live
they'll dance just as lively as the first time. What do
you think of it?”

“It’s worth three hundred all right,” the man ad-
mitted. ‘‘ I wish I could make my money that easy.”
CHAPTER XXIX

6 UESS I’ll have to wash my hands of him,” Col-

lins told Johnny. ‘I know Del Mar must
have been right when he said he was the limit, but I
can’t get a clew to it.”

This followed upon a fight between Michael and Col-
lins. Michael, more morose than ever, had become
even crusty-tempered, and, scarcely with provocation
at all, had attacked the man he hated, failing, as ever,
to put his teeth into him, and receiving, in turn, a couple
of smashing kicks under his jaw.

“ He’s like a gold mine all right all right,” Collins
meditated, ‘‘ but I’m hanged if I can crack it, and he’s
getting grouchier every day. Look at him. What'd
he want to jump me for? I wasn’t rough with him.
He’s piling up a sourball that’ll make him fight a police-
man some day.”

A few minutes later, one of his patrons, a tow-headed
young man who was boarding and rehearsing three per-
forming leopards at Cedarwild, was asking Collins for
the loan of an Airedale.

“T’ve only got one left now,” he explained, “‘ and I
ain’t safe without two.”

‘* What’s happened to the other one?’ the master-
trainer queried.

“‘ Alphonso — that’s the big buck leopard — got
nasty this morning and settled his hash. I had to put
him out of his misery. He was gutted like a horse in

the bull-ring. But he saved me all right. If it hadn’t
260
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 261

been for him I’d have got a mauling. Alphonso gets
these bad streaks just about every so often. That’s
the second dog he’s killed for me.”

Collins shook his head.

“‘Haven’t got an Airedale,” he said, and just then
his eyes chanced to fall on Michael. “ Try out the
Irish terrier,” he suggested. ‘ They’re like the Aire-
dale in disposition. Pretty close cousins at any rate.”

‘‘T pin my faith on the Airedale when it comes to
lion-dogs,” the leopard man demurred.

‘“‘So’s an Irish terrier a lion dog. Take that one
there. Look at the size and weight of him. Also,
take it from me, he’s all spunk. He’ll stand up to any-
thing. Try him out. I'll lend him to you. If he
makes good I’ll sell him to you cheap. An Irish ter-
rier for a leopard dog will be a novelty.”

“Tf he gets fresh with them cats he’ll find his finish,”
Johnny told Collins, as Michael was led away by the
leopard man.

“Then, maybe, the stage will lose a star,” Collins
answered, with a shrug of shoulders. “ But I’ll have
him off my chest anyway. When a dog gets a perpetual
sourball like that he’s finished. Never can do a thing
with them. I’ve had them on my hands before.”

And Michael went to make the acquaintance of Jack,
the surviving Airedale, and to do his daily turn with
the leopards. In the big spotted cats he recognised
the hereditary enemy, and, even before he was thrust
into the cage, his neck was all a-prickle as the skin nerv-
ously tightened and the hair uprose stiff-ended. It was
a nervous moment for all concerned, the introduction
of a new dog into the cage. The tow-headed leopard.
man, who was billed on the boards as Raoul Castlemon
262 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

and was called Ralph by his intimates, was already in
the cage. The Airedale was with him, while outside
stood several men armed with iron bars and long steel
forks. These weapons, ready for immediate use, were
thrust between the bars as a menace to the leopards
who were, very much against their wills, to be made to
perform.

They resented Michael’s intrusion on the instant,
spitting, lashing their long tails, and crouching to
spring. At the same instant the trainer spoke with
sharp imperativeness and raised his whip, while the
men on the outside lifted their irons and advanced them
intimidatingly into the cage. And the leopards, bit-
ter-wise of the taste of the iron, remained crouched, al-
though they still spat and whipped their tails angrily.

Michael was no coward. He did not slink behind
the man for protection. On the other hand, he was
too sensible to rush to attack such formidable creatures.
What he did do, with bristling neck hair, was to stalk
stiff-leggedly across the cage, turn about with his face
toward the danger, and stalk stiffly back, coming to a
pause alongside of Jack, who gave him a good-natured
sniff of greeting.

“* He’s the stuff,” the trainer muttered in a curiously
tense voice. “ They don’t get his goat.”

The situation was deservedly tense, and Ralph de-
veloped it with cautious care, making no abrupt move-
ments, his eyes playing everywhere over dogs and
leopards and the men outside with the prods and bars.
He made the savage cats come out of their crouch and
separate from one another. At his word of command,
Jack walked about among them. Michael, on his own
initiative, followed. And, like Jack, he walked very
stifly on his guard and very circumspectly.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 263

One of them, Alphonso, spat suddenly at him. He
did not startle, though his hair rippled erect and he
bared his fangs in a silent snarl. At the same moment
the nearest iron bar was shoved in threateningly close to
Alphonso, who shifted his yellow eyes from Michael
to the bar and back again and did not strike out.

The first day was the hardest. After that the leop-
ards accepted Michael as they accepted Jack. No love
was lost on either side, nor were friendly overtures ever
offered. Michael was quick to realise that it was the
men and dogs against the cats and that the men and
dogs must stand together. Each day he spent from an
hour to two hours in the cage, watching the rehearsing,
with nothing for him and Jack to do save stand vigi-
lantly on guard. Sometimes, when the leopards seemed
better natured, Ralph even encouraged the two dogs to
lie down. But, on bad mornings, he saw to it that
they were ever ready to spring in between him and any
possible attack.

For the rest of the time Michael shared his large
pen with Jack. They were well cared for, as were all
animals at Cedarwild, receiving frequent scrubbings
and being kept clean of vermin. For a dog only three
years old, Jack was very sedate. Either he had never
learned to play or had already forgotten how. On the
other hand, he was sweet-tempered and equable, and
he did not resent the early shows of crustiness which
Michael made. And Michael quickly ceased from be-
ing crusty and took pleasure in their quiet companion-
ship. There were no demonstrations. They were
content to lie awake by the hour, merely pleasantly
aware of each other’s proximity.

Occasionally, Michael could hear Sara making a dis-
tant scene or sending out calls which he knew were for
264 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

him. Once she got away from her keeper and located
Michael coming out of the leopard cage. With a shrill
squeal of joy she was upon him, clinging to him and
chattering the hysterical tale of all her woes since they
had been parted. The leopard men looked on toler-
antly and let her have her few minutes. It was her
keeper who tore her away in the end, cling as she would
to Michael, screaming all the while like a harridan.
When her hold was broken, she sprang at the man in a
fury, and, before he could throttle her to subjection,
sank her teeth into his thumb and wrist. All of which
was provocative of great hilarity to the onlookers, while
her squalls and cries excited the leopards to spitting and
leaping against their bars. And, as she was borne
away, she set up a soft wailing like that of a heart-
broken child.

Although Michael proved a success with the leop-
ards, Raoul Castlemon never bought him from Collins.
One morning, several days later, the arena was vexed
by uproar and commotion from the animal cages. The
excitement, starting with revolver shots, was communi-
cated everywhere. The various lions raised a great
roaring, and the many dogs barked frantically. All
tricks in the arena stopped, the animals temporarily un-
strung and unable to continue. Several men, among
them Collins, ran in the direction of the cages. Sara’s
keeper dropped her chain in order to follow.

‘“Tt’s Alphonso — shillings to pence it is,’”’ Collins
called to one of his assistants who was running beside
him. “ He’ll get Ralph yet.”

The affair was all but over and leaping to its culmina-
tion when Collins arrived. Castlemon was just being
dragged out, and as Collins ran he could see the two
men drop him to the ground so that they might slam the
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 265

cage door shut. Inside, in so wildly struggling a tangle
on the floor that it was difficult to discern what animals
composed it, were Alphonso, Jack, and Michael locked
together. Men danced about outside, thrusting in with
iron bars and trying to separate them. In the far end
of the cage were the other two leopards, nursing their
wounds and snarling and striking at the iron rods that
kept them out of the combat.

Sara’s arrival and what followed was a matter of
seconds. ‘Trailing her chain behind her, the little green
monkey, the tailed female who knew love and hysteria
and was remote cousin to human woman, flashed up to
the narrow cage-bars and squeezed through. Simul-
taneously the tangle underwent a violent upheaval.
Flung out with such force as to be smashed against the
near end of the cage, Michael fell to the floor, tried to
spring up, but crumpled and sank down, his right shoul-
der streaming blood from a terrible mauling and crush-
ing. To him Sara leaped, throwing her arms around
him and mothering him up to her flat little hairy breast.
She uttered solicitous cries, and, as Michael strove to
rise on his ruined fore-leg, scolded him with sharp gen-
tleness and with her arms tried to hold him away from
the battle. Also, in an interval, her eyes malevolent in
her rage, she chattered piercing curses at Alphonso.

A crowbar, shoved into his side, distracted the big
leopard. He struck at the weapon with his paw, and,
when it was poked into him again, flung himself upon
it, biting the naked iron with his teeth. With a second
fling he was against the cage bars, with a single slash of
paw ripping down the forearm of the man who had
poked him. The crowbar was dropped as the man
leaped away. Alphonso flung back on Jack, a sorry
antagonist by this time, who could only pant and quiver
266 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

where he lay in the welter of what was left of him.

Michael had managed to get up on his three legs and
was striving to stumble forward against the restraining
arms of Sara. The mad leopard was on the verge of
springing upon them when deflected by another prod of
the iron. ‘This time he went straight at the man, fetch-
ing up against the cage-bars with such fierceness as to
shake the structure.

More men began thrusting with more rods, but Al-
phonso was not to be balked. Sara saw him coming,
and screamed her shrillest and savagest at him. Col-
lins snatched a revolver from one of the men.

“ Don’t kill him!” Castlemon cried, seizing Collins’
arm.

The leopard man was in a bad way himself. One
arm dangled helplessly at his side, while his eyes, filling
with blood from a scalp wound, he wiped on the master-
trainer’s shoulder so that he might see.

““He’s my property,” he protested. “ And he’s
worth a hundred sick monkeys and sourballed terriers.
Anyway, we'll get them out all right. Give me a
chance— Somebody mop my eyes out, please. I
can’t see. I’ve used up my blank cartridges. Has
anybody any blanks? ”

One moment Sara would interpose her body between
Michael and the leopard, which was still being delayed
by the prodding irons; and the next moment she would
turn to screech at the fanged cat as if by very advertise-
ment of her malignancy she might intimidate him into
keeping back.

Michael, dragging her with him, growling and bris-
tling, staggered forward a couple of three-legged steps,
gave at the ruined shoulder, and collapsed. And then
Sara did the great deed. With one last scream of ut-
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 267

most fury, she sprang full into the face of the monster
cat, tearing and scratching with hands and feet, her
mouth buried into the roots of one of its stubby ears.
The astounded leopard upreared, with his fore-paws
striking and ripping at the little demon that would not
let go.

The fight and the life in the little green monkey lasted
a short ten seconds. But this was sufficient for Collins
to get the door ajar and with a quick clutch on Michael's
hind-leg jerk him out and to the ground.
CHAPTER XXX

O rough and ready surgery of the Del Mar sort

obtained at Cedarwild, else Michael would not

have lived. A real surgeon, skilful and audacious,

came very close to vivisecting him as he radically re-

paired the ruin of a shoulder, doing things he would

not have dared with a human but which proved to be
correct for Michael.

‘* FYe’ll always be lame,” the surgeon said, wiping his
hands and gazing down at Michael who lay, for the
most part of him, a motionless prisoner set in plaster
of Paris. ‘All the healing, and there’s plenty of it,
will have to be by first intention. If his temperature
shoots up we'll have to put him out of his misery.
What’s he worth?”

“He has no tricks,” Collins answered. ‘“‘ Possibly
fifty dollars, and certainly not that now. Lame dogs
are not worth teaching tricks to.”

Time was to prove both men wrong. Michael was
not destined to permanent lameness, although in after
years his shoulder was always tender, and, on occasion,
when the weather was damp, he was compelled to ease
it with a slight limp. On the other hand, he was des-
tined to appreciate to a great price and to become the
star performer Harry Del Mar had predicted of him.

In the meantime he lay for many weary days in the
plaster and abstained from raising a dangerous tem-
perature. The care taken of him was excellent. But

not out of love and affection was it given. It was
268
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 269

merely a part of the system at Cedarwild which made
the institution such a success. When he was taken out
of the plaster, he was still denied that instinctive pleas-
ure which all animals take in licking their wounds, for
shrewdly arranged bandages were wrapped and buckled
on him. And when they were finally removed, there
were no wounds to lick, though deep in the shoulder was
a pain that required months in which to die out.

Harris Collins bothered him no more with trying to
teach him tricks, and, one day, loaned him as a filler-in
to a man and woman who had lost three of their dog-
troupe by pneumonia.

‘““If he makes out you can have him for twenty dol-
lars,” Collins told the man, Wilton Davis.

“ And if he croaks?”’ Davis queried.

Collins shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘I won’t sit up
nights worrying about him. He’s unteachable.”

And when Michael departed from Cedarwild in a
crate on an express wagon, he might well have never re-
turned, for Wilton Davis was notorious among trained
animal men for his cruelty to dogs. Some care he
might take of a particular dog with a particularly valu-
able trick, but mere fillers-in came too cheaply. They
cost from three to five dollars apiece. Worse than
that, so far as he was concerned, Michael had cost noth-
ing. And if he died it meant nothing to Davis except
the trouble of finding another dog.

The first stage of Michael’s new adventure involved
no unusual hardship, despite the fact that he was so
cramped in his crate that he could not stand up and that
the jolting and handling of the crate sent countless
twinges of pain shooting through his shoulder. The
journey was only to Brooklyn, where he was duly deliv-
ered to a second rate theatre, Wilton Davis being so
270 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

indifferent a second rate animal man that he could never
succeed in getting time with the big circuits.

The hardship of the cramped crate began after
Michael had been carried into a big room above the
stage and deposited with nearly a score of similarly
crated dogs. A sorry lot they were, all of them scrubs
and most of them spirit-broken and miserable. Several
had bad sores on their heads from being knocked about
by Davis. No care was taken of these sores, and they
were not improved by the whitening that was put
on them for concealment whenever they performed.
Some of them howled lamentably at times, and every
little while, as if it were all that remained for them to
do in their narrow cells, all of them would break out
into barking.

Michael was the only one who did not join in these
choruses. Long since, as one feature of his developing
moroseness, he had ceased from barking. He had be-
come too unsociable for any such demonstrations; nor
did he pattern after the example of some of the sourer-
tempered dogs in the room, who were forever bickering
and snarling through the slats of their cages. In fact,
Michael’s sourness of temper had become too profound
even for quarrelling. All he desired was to be let
alone, and of this he had a surfeit for the first forty-
eight hours.

Wilton Davis had assembled his troupe ahead of
time, so that the change of programme was five days
away. Having taken advantage of this to go to see his
wife’s people over in New Jersey, he had hired one of
the stage hands to feed and water his dogs. This the
stage hand would have done, had he not had the misfor-
tune to get into an altercation with a bar-keeper which
culminated in a fractured skull and an ambulance ride
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 271

to the receiving hospital. To make the situation per-
fect for what followed, the theatre was closed for three
days in order to make certain alterations demanded by
the Fire Commissioners.

No one came near the room, and after several hours
Michael grew aware of hunger and thirst. The time
passed, and the desire for food was supplanted by the
desire for water. By nightfall the barking and yelp-
ing became continuous, changing through the long night
hours to whimpering and whining. Michael alone
made no sound, suffering dumbly in the bedlam of mis-
ery.
Morning of the second day dawned; the slow hours
dragged by to the second night; and the darkness of the
second night drew down upon a scene behind the scenes,
sufficient of itself to condemn all trained animal acts in
all theatres and show-tents of all the world. Whether
Michael dreamed or was in semi-delirium, there is no
telling; but, whichever it was, he lived most of his past
life over again. Again he played as a puppy on the
broad verandas of Mister Haggin’s plantation bunga-
low at Meringe; or, with Jerry, stalked the edges of
the jungle down by the river bank to spy upon the croco-
diles; or, learning from Mister Haggin and Bob, and
patterning after Biddy and Terrence, to consider black
men as lesser and despised gods who must forever be
kept strictly in their places.

On the schooner Eugénie he sailed with Captain Kel-
lar, his second master, and on the beach at Tulagi lost
his heart to Steward of the magic fingers and sailed
away with him and Kwaque on the steamer Makambo.
Steward was most in his visions, against a hazy back-
ground of vessels, and of individuals like the An-
cient Mariner, Simon Nishikanta, Grimshaw, Captain
272 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Doane, and little old Ah Moy. Nor least of all did
Scraps appear, and Cocky, the valiant-hearted little fluf
of life gallantly bearing himself through his brief ad-
venture inthe sun. And it would seem to Michael that
on one side, clinging to him, Cocky talked farrago in his
ear, and on the other side Sara clung to him and chat-
tered an interminable and incommunicable tale. And
then, deep about the roots of his ears would seem to
prod the magic, caressing fingers of Steward the be-
loved.

‘* T just don’t have no luck,” Wilton Davis mourned,
gazing about at his dogs, the air still vibrating with the
string of oaths he had at first ripped out.

“* That comes of trusting a drunken stage hand,”’ his
wife remarked placidly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if
half of them died on us now.”

‘* Well, this is no time for talk,” Davis snarled, pro-
ceeding to take off his coat. ‘‘ Get busy, my love, and
learn the worst. Water’s what they need. [I'll give
them a tub of it.”

Bucketful by bucketful, from the tap at the sink in
the corner, he filled a large galvanised-iron tub. At
sound of the running water the dogs began whimpering
and yelping and moaning. Some tried to lick his hands
with their swollen tongues as he dragged them roughly
out of their cages. ‘The weaker ones crawled and bel-
lied toward the tub, and were over-trod by the stronger
ones. There was not room for all, and the stronger
ones drank first, with much fighting and squabbling and
slashing of fangs. Into the foremost of this was Mi-
chael, slashing and being slashed, but managing to get
hasty gulps of the life-saving fluid. Davis danced
about among them, kicking right and left, so that all
might have a chance. His wife took a hand, laying
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY. 273

about her with amop. It was a pandemonium of pain,
for, their parched throats softened by the water, they
were again able to yelp and cry out loudly all their hurt
and woe.

Several were too weak to get to the water, so it was
carried to them and doused and splashed into their
mouths. It seemed that they would never be satisfied.
They lay in collapse all about the room, but every little
while one or another would crawl over to the tub and try
to drink more. In the meantime Davis had started a
fire and filled a caldron with potatoes.

““ The place stinks like a den of skunks,” Mrs. Davis
observed, pausing from dabbing the end of her nose
with a powder puff. ‘‘ Dearest, we'll just have to wash
them.”

“All right, sweetheart,” her husband agreed.
“ And the quicker the better. We can get through with
it while the potatoes are boiling and cooling. I'll scrub
them and you dry them. Remember that pneumonia,
and do it thoroughly.”

It was quick, rough bathing. Reaching out for the
dogs nearest him, he flung them in turn into the tub
from which they had drunk. When they were fright-
ened, or when they objected in any way, he rapped them
on the head with the scrubbing brush or the bar of yel-
low laundry soap with which he was lathering them.
Several minutes sufficed for a dog.

“ Drink, damn you, drink — have some more,” he
would say, as he shoved their heads down and under
the dirty, soapy water.

He seemed to hold them responsible for their hor-
rible condition, to look upon their filthiness as a per-
sonal affront.

Michael yielded to being flung into the tub. He rec-
274 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

ognised that baths were necessary and compulsory, al-
though they were administered in much better fashion
at Cedarwild, while Kwaque and Steward had made a
sort of love function of it when they bathed him. So
he did his best to endure the scrubbing, and all might
have been well had not Davis soused him under. Mi-
chael jerked his head up with a warning growl. Davis
suspended half-way the blow he was delivering with the
heavy brush, and emitted a low whistle of surprise.

“Hello!” he said. ‘And look who’s here! —
Lovey, this is the Irish terrier I got from Collins.
He’s no good. Collins saidso. Justa fill-in— Get
out!” he commanded Michael. ‘‘ That’s all you get
now, Mr. Fresh Dog. But take it from me pretty soon
you'll be getting it fast enough to make you dizzy.”

While the potatoes were cooling, Mrs. Davis kept
the hungry dogs warned away by sharp cries. Michael
lay down sullenly to one side, and took no part in the
rush for the trough when permission was given. Again
Davis danced among them, kicking away the stronger
and the more eager.

“ Tf they get to fighting after all we’ve done for them,
kick in their ribs, lovey,” he told his wife.

“There! You would, would you?”’—this to a
large black dog, accompanied by a savage kick in the
side. The animal yelped its pain as it fled away, and,
from a safe distance, looked on piteously at the steam-
ing food.

“ Well, after this they can’t say I don’t never give my
dogs a bath,” Davis remarked from the sink, where he
was rinsing his arms. ‘‘ What d’ye say we call it a
day’s work, my dear?”? Mrs. Davis nodded agree-
ment. ‘‘ We can rehearse them to-morrow and next
day. That will be plenty of time. I'll run in to-night
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 275

and boil them some bran. They’ll need an extra meal
after fasting two days.”

The potatoes finished, the dogs were put back in their
cages for another twenty-four hours of close confine-
ment. Water was poured into their drinking tins, and,
in the evening, still in their cages, they were served lib-
erally with boiled bran and dog-biscuit. This was Mi-
chael’s first food, for he had sulkily refused to go near
the potatoes.

The rehearsing took place on the stage, and for Mi-
chael trouble came at the very start. The drop curtain
was supposed to go up and reveal the twenty dogs seated
on chairs in a semi-circle. Because, while they were be-
ing thus arranged the preceding turn was taking place
in front of the drop curtain, it was imperative that rigid
silence should be kept. Next, when the curtain rose on
full stage, the dogs were trained to make a great bark-
ing.

As a filler-in, Michael had nothing to do but sit on a
chair. But he had to get upon the chair first, and when
Davis so ordered him he accompanied the order with a
clout on the side of the head. Michael growled warn-
ingly.

‘Oh, ho, eh?” the man sneered. ‘It’s Fresh Dog
looking for trouble. Well, you might as well get it
over with now so your name can be changed to Good
Dog— My dear, just keep the rest of them in order
while I teach Fresh Dog lesson number one.”

Of the beating that followed, the least said the bet-
ter. Michael put up a fight that was hopeless, and was
thoroughly beaten in return. Bruised and bleeding, he
sat on the chair, taking no part in the performance and
only sullenly engendering a deeper and bitterer sour-
ness. To keep silent before the curtain went up was no
276 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

hardship for him. But when the curtain did go up, he
declined to join the rest of the dogs in their frantic bark-
ing and yelping.

The dogs, sometimes alone and sometimes in couples
and trios and groups, left their chairs at command and
performed the conventional dog-tricks such as walking
on hind-legs, hopping, limping, waltzing, and throwing
somersaults. Wilton Davis’ temper was short and his
hand heavy throughout the rehearsal, as the shrill yelps
of pain from the lagging and stupid attested.

In all, during that day and the forenoon of the next,
three long rehearsals took place. Michael’s troubles
ceased for the time being. At command, he silently got
on the chair and silently sat there. ‘‘ Which shows,
dearest, what a bit of the stick will do,” Davis bragged
to his wife. Nor did the pair of them dream of the
scandalising part Michael was going to play in their first
performance.

Behind the curtain all was ready on the full stage.
The dogs sat on their chairs in abject silence with Davis
and his wife menacing them to remain silent, while, in
front of the curtain, Dick and Daisy Bell delighted the
matinée audience with their swinging and dancing.
And all went well, and no one in the audience would
have suspected the full stage of dogs behind the curtain
had not Dick and Daisy, accompanied by the orchestra,
begun to sing ‘‘ Roll Me Down to Rio.”

Michael could not help it. Even as Kwaque had
long before mastered him by the jew’s-harp, and Stew-
ard by love, and Harry Del Mar by the harmonica, so
now was he mastered by the strains of the orchestra and
the voices of the man and woman lilting the old familiar
rhythm, taught him by Steward, of “ Roll Me Down to
Rio.” Despite himself, despite his sullenness, the
 

MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 277

forces compulsive opened his jaws and set all his throat
vibrating in accompaniment.

From beyond the curtain came a titter of children and
women that grew into a roar and drowned out the
voices of Dick and Daisy. Wilton Davis cursed unbe-
lievably as he sprang down the stage to Michael. But
Michael howled on, and the audience laughed on.
Michael was still howling when the short club smote
him. The shock and hurt of it made him break off
and yelp an involuntary cry of pain.

“ Knock his block off, dearest,” Mrs. Davis coun-
selled.

And then ensued battle royal. Davis struck shrewd
blows that could be heard, as were heard the snarls and
growls of Michael. The audience, under the sway of
comic, ignored Dick and Daisy Bell. Their turn was
spoiled. The Davis turn was “ queered,” as Wilton
expressed it. Michael’s block was knocked off within
the meaning of the term. And the audience, on the
other side of the curtain, was edified and delighted.

Dick and Daisy could not continue. The audience
wanted what was behind the curtain, not in front of it.
Michael was taken off stage thoroughly throttled by
one of the stagehands, and the curtain arose on the full
set — full, save for the one empty chair. ‘The boys in
the audience first realised the connection between the
empty chair and the previous uproar, and began clam-
ouring for the absent dog. The audience took up the
cry, the dogs barked more excitedly, and five minutes of
hilarity delayed the turn which, when at last started,
was marked by rustiness and erraticness on the part of
the dogs and by great peevishness on the part of Wilton
Davis.

‘““Never mind, honey,” his imperturbable wife as-
278 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

sured him in a stage whisper. ‘‘ We'll just ditch that
dog and get a regular one. And, anyway, we've put
one over on that Daisy Bell. I ain’t told you yet what
she said about me, only last week, to some of my
friends.”

Several minutes later, still on the stage and handling
his animals, the husband managed a chance to mutter to
his wife: ‘“It'sthe dog. It’shimI’mafter. I’m go-
ing to lay him out.”

“Yes, dearest,” she agreed.

The curtain down, with a gleeful audience in front
and with the dogs back in the room over the stage, Wil-
ton Davis descended to look for Michael, who, instead
of cowering in some corner, stood between the legs of
the stagehand, quivering yet from his mishandling and
threatening to fight as hard as ever if attacked. On his
way, Davis encountered the song and dance couple.
The woman was in a tearful rage, the man in a dry one.

“You’re a peach of a dog man, you are,” he an-
nounced belligerently. ‘‘ Here’s where you get yours.”

“You keep away from me, or I'll lay you out,” Wil-
ton Davis responded desperately, brandishing a short
iron bar in his right hand. ‘ Besides, you just wait if
you want to, and I’ll lay you out afterward. But first
of all I’m going to lay out that dog. Come on along
and see— damn him! HowwasItoknow? He was
anew one. He never peeped in rehearsal. How was
I to know he was going to yap when we arranged the set
behind you? ”

“You've raised hell,” the manager of the theatre
greeted Davis, as the latter, trailed by Dick Bell, came
upon Michael bristling from between the legs of the
stagehand.

“Nothing to what I’m going to raise,” Davis re-
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 279

torted, shortening his grip on the iron bar and raising it.
“I’m going to kill’m. I’m going to beat the life out
of him. You just watch.”

Michael snarled acknowledgment of the threat,
crouched to spring, and kept his eyes on the iron
weapon.

“IT just guess you ain’t goin’ to do anything of the
sort,” the stagehand assured Davis.

“Tt’s my property,” the latter asserted with an air
of legal convincingness.

“And against it I’m goin’ to stack up my common
sense,” was the stagehand’s reply. ‘“ You tap him
once, and see what you'll get. Dogs is dogs, and men
is men, but I’m damned if I know what you are. You
can’t pull off rough stuff on that dog. First time he
was on a stage in his life, after being starved and
thirsted for two days. Oh, I know, Mr. Manager.”

“ Tf you kill the dog it'll cost you a dollar to the gar-
bage man to get rid of the carcass,” the manager took
up.
“Tl pay it gladly,” Davis said, again lifting the iron
bar. “I’ve got some comeback, ain’t I?”

“You animal guys make me sick,” the stagehand ut-
tered. ‘ You just make me draw the line somewheres.
And here it is: you tap him once with that baby crow-
bar, and I'll tap you hard enough to lose me my job
and to send you to hospital.”

“* Now look here, Jackson . . .” the manager began
threateningly.

“You can’t say nothin’ to me,” was the retort.
“My mind’s made up. If that cheap guy lays a finger
on that dog I’m just sure goin’ to lose my job. I’m get-
tin’ tired anyway of seein’ these skates beatin’ up their
animals. They’ve made me sick clean through.”
280 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

The manager looked to Davis and shrugged his
shoulders helplessly.

“‘There’s no use pulling off a roughhouse,” he coun-
selled. “I don’t want to lose Jackson, and he’ll put
you into hospital if he ever gets started. Send the dog
back where you got him. Your wife’s told me about
him. Stick him into a box and send him back collect.
Collins won’t mind. He'll take the singing out of him
and work him into something.”

Davis, with another glance at the truculent Jackson,
wavered.

“Tl tell you what,” the manager went on persua-
sively. ‘‘ Jackson will attend to the whole thing, box
him up, ship him, everything — won't you, Jackson? ”

The stagehand nodded curtly, then reached down and
gently caressed Michael’s bruised head.

“Well,” Davis gave in, turning on his heel, “ they
can make fools of themselves over dogs, them that
wants to. But when they’ve been in the business as
long as IT have... .”

N:
CHAPTER XXXI

A POSTAL card from Davis to Collins explained
the reason for Michael’s return. ‘He sings
too much to suit my fancy,” was Davis’ way of putting
it, thereby unwittingly giving the clew to what Collins
had vainly sought, and which Collins as unwittingly
failed to grasp. As he told Johnny:

“From the looks of the beatings he’s got no wonder
he’s been singing. That’s the trouble with these ani-
mal people. They don’t know how to take care of
their property. They hammer its head off and get
grouched because it ain’t an angel of obedience —— Put
him away, Johnny. Wash him clean, and put on the
regular dressing wherever the skin’s broken. I give
him up myself, but I’ll find some place for him in the
next bunch of dogs.”

Two weeks later, by sheerest accident, Harris Col-
lins made the discovery for himself of what Michael
was good for. In a spare moment in the arena, he
had sent for him to be tried out by a dog man who
needed several fillers-in. Beyond what he knew, such
as at command to stand up, to lie down, to come here
and go there, Michael had done nothing. He had re-
fused to learn the most elementary things a show-dog
should know, and Collins had left him to go over to
another part of the arena where a monkey band, on a
sort of mimic stage, was being arranged and broken in.

Frightened and mutinous, nevertheless the monkeys
were compelled to perform by being tied to their seats
and instruments and by being pulled and jerked from

281
282 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

off stage by wires fastened to their bodies. The leader
of the orchestra, an irascible elderly monkey, sat on a
revolving stool to which he was securely attached.
When poked from off stage by means of long poles, he
flew into ecstasies of rage. At the same time, by a rope
arrangement, his chair was whirled round and round.
To an audience the effect would be that he was angered
by the blunders of his fellow musicians. And to an
audience such anger would be highly ludicrous. As
Collins said:

‘“ A monkey band is always awinner. It fetches the
laugh, and the money’s in the laugh. Humans just
have to laugh at monkeys because they’re so similar and
because the human has the advantage and feels himself
superior. Suppose we’re walking along the street, you
and me, and you slip and fall down. Of course I laugh.
That’s because I’m superior to you. I didn’t fall down.
Same thing if your hat blows off. I laugh while you
chase it down the street. I’m superior. My hat’s
still on my head. Same thing with the monkey band.
All the fool things of it make us feel so superior. We
don’t see ourselves so foolish. That’s why we pay to
see the monkeys behave foolish.”

It was scarcely a matter of training the monkeys.
Rather was it the training of the men who operated the
concealed mechanisms that made the monkeys perform.
To this Harris Collins was devoting his effort.

“‘ There isn’t any reason why you fellows can’t make
them play a real tune. It’s up to you, just according
to how you pull the wires. Come on. It’s worth go-
ing in for. Let’s try something you all know. And
remember, the regular orchestra will always help you
out. Now what do you all know? Something simple,
and something the audience’ll know, too?”
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 283

He became absorbed in trying out the idea, and even
borrowed a circus rider whose act was to play the violin
while standing on the back of a galloping horse and to
throw somersaults on such precarious platform while
still playing the violin. This man he got merely to
play simple airs in slow time, so that the assistants
could keep the time and the air and pull the wires ac-
cordingly.

‘““Of course, if you make a howling mistake,” Col-
lins told them, “ that’s when you all pull the wires like
mad and poke the leader and whirl him around. That
always brings down the house. They think he’s got a
real musical ear and is mad at his orchestra for the
discord.”

In the midst of the work, Johnny and Michael came
along.

“That guy says he wouldn’t take him for a gift,”
Johnny reported to his employer.

All right, all right, put him back in the kennels,”
Collins ordered hurriedly — ‘‘ Now, you fellows, all
ready! ‘Home, Sweet Home!’ Go to it, Fisher!
Now keep the time the rest of you! . . . That’s it.
With a full orchestra you’re making motions like the
tune — Faster, you, Simmons. You drag behind all
the time.”

And the accident happened. Johnny, instead of im-
mediately obeying the order and taking Michael back
to the kennels, lingered in the hope of seeing the or-
chestra leader whirled chattering around on his stool.
The violinist, within a yard of where Michael sat
squatted on his haunches, played the notes of “‘ Home,
Sweet Home ” with loud slow exactitude and emphasis.

And Michael could not help it. No more could he
help it than could he help responding with a snarl when
284 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

threatened by a club; no more could he help it than
when he had spoiled the turn of Dick and Daisy Bell
when swept by the strains of “‘ Roll Me Down to Rio”;
no more could he help it than could Jerry, on the deck of
the Ariel, help singing when Villa Kennan put her arms
around him, smothered him deliciously in her cloud of
hair, and sang his memory back into time and the fel-
lowship of the ancient pack. As with Jerry, was it with
Michael. Music was a drug of dream. He, too, re-
membered the lost pack and sought it, seeking the bare
hills of snow and the stars glimmering overhead
through the frosty darkness of night, hearing the faint
answering howls from other hills as the pack assembled.
Lost the pack was, through the thousands of years Mi-
chael’s ancestors had lived by the fires of men; yet re-
membered always it was when the magic of rhythm
poured through him and flooded his being with visions
and sensations of that Otherwhere which in his own life
he had never known.

Compounded with the waking dream of Otherwhere,
was the memory of Steward and the love of Steward,
with whom he had learned to sing the very series of
notes that now were being reproduced by the circus-
rider violinist. And Michael’s jaw dropped down, his
throat vibrated, his fore-feet made restless little move-
ments as if in the body he were running, as truly he was
running in the mind, back to Steward, back through all
the ages to the lost pack, and with the shadowy lost
pack itself across the snowy wastes and through the for-
est aisles in the hunt of the meat.

The spectral forms of the lost pack were all about
him as he sang and ran in open-eyed dream; the violinist
paused in surprise; the men poked the monkey leader of
the monkey orchestra and whirled him about wildly
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 285

raging on his revolving stool, and Johnny laughed.
But Harris Collins took note. He had heard Michael
accurately follow the air. He had heard him sing —
not merely howl, but sing.

Silence fell. The monkey leader ceased revolving
and chattering. The men who had poked him held
poles and wires suspended in their hands. The rest of
the monkey orchestra merely shivered in apprehension
of what next atrocity should be perpetrated. The vio-
linist stared. Johnny still heaved from his laughter.
But Harris Collins pondered, scratched his head, and
continued to ponder.

“You can’t tell me. . . .” he began vaguely. “I
know it. I heard it. That dog carried the tune.
Didn’t he now? I leave it to all of you. Didn’t he?
The damned dog sang. I'll stake my life on it —
Hold on, you fellows; rest the monkeys off. This is

worth following up— Mr. Violinist, play that over
again, now, ‘ Home, Sweet Home,’— let her go. Press
her strong, and loud, and slow — Now watch, all of

you, and listen, and tell me if I’m crazy, or if that dog
ain’t carrying the tune — There! What d’ye call it?
Ain’t it?”

There was no discussion. Michael’s jaw dropped
and his fore-feet began their restless lifting after sev-
eral measures had been played. And Harris Collins
stepped close to him and sang with him and in accord.

“Harry Del Mar was right when he said that dog
was the limit and sold his troupe. He knew. The
dog’s a dog Caruso. No howling chorus of mutts such
as Kingman used to carry around with him, but a real
singer, a soloist. No wonder he wouldn’t learn tricks.
He had his specialty all the time. And just to think
of it! I as good as gave him away to that dog-killing
286 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Wilton Davis. Only he came back— Johnny, take
extra care of him after this. Bring him up to the house
this afternoon, and I’ll give him a real tryout. My
daughter plays the violin. We'll see what music he’ll
sing with her. There’s a mint of money in him, take it
from me.”

Thus was Michael discovered. The afternoon’s try-
out was partially successful. After vainly attempting
strange music on him, Collins found that he could sing,
and would sing, ‘‘ God Save the King ” and “‘ Sweet Bye
and Bye.” Many hours of many days were spent in
the quest. Vainly he tried to teach Michael new airs.
Michael put no heart of love in the effort and sullenly
abstained. But whenever one of the songs he had
learned from Steward was played, he responded. He
could not help responding. The magic was stronger
than he. In the end, Collins discovered five of the six
songs he knew: ‘‘ God Save the King,’’ “‘ Sweet Bye
and Bye,” “Lead, Kindly Light,” ‘‘ Home, Sweet
Home,” and “ Roll Me Down to Rio.” Michael
never sang ‘‘ Shenandoah,” because Collins and Collins’
daughter did not know the old sea-chanty and therefore
were unable to suggest it to him.

“‘ Five songs are enough, if he won’t never learn an-
other note,” Collins concluded. ‘* They'll make him a
bill-topper anywhere. There’s a mint in him. Hang
me if I wouldn’t take him out on the road myself if
only I was young and footloose.”
CHAPTER XXXII

ND so Michael was ultimately sold to one, Jacob
Henderson, for two thousand dollars. ‘‘ And
I’m giving him away to you at that,” said Collins. “ If
you don’t refuse five thousand for him before six
months, I don’t know anything about the show game.
He'll skin that last arithmetic dog of yours to a finish
and you won't have to show yourself and work every
minute of the turn. And if you don’t insure him for
fifty thousand as soon as he’s made good, you'll be a
fool. Why, I wouldn’t ask anything better, if I was
young and foot-loose, than to take him out on the road
myself.” :
Henderson proved totally different from any master
Michael had had. The man was a neutral sort of crea-
ture. He was neither good nor evil. He neither
drank, smoked, nor swore; nor did he go to church or
belong to the Y. M.C. A. He was a vegetarian with-
out being a bigoted one, liked moving pictures when
they were concerned with travel, and spent most of his
spare time in reading Swedenborg. He had no temper
whatever. Nobody had ever witnessed anger in him,
and all said he had the patience of Job. He was even
timid of policemen, freight agents, and conductors,
though he was not afraid of them. He was not afraid
of anything, any more than was he enamoured of any-
thing save Swedenborg. He was as colourless of char-
acter as the neutral-coloured clothes he wore, as the

neutral-coloured hair that sprawled upon his crown, as
287
288 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

the neutral-coloured eyes with which he observed the
world. Nor was he a fool any more than was he a
wise man orascholar. He gave little to life, asked lit-
tle of life, and, in the show business, was a recluse in
the very heart of life.

Michael neither liked nor disliked him, but, rather,
merely accepted him. They travelled the United
States over together, and they never had a quarrel.
Not once did Henderson raise his voice sharply to
Michael, and not once did Michael snarl a warning at
him. They simply endured together, existed together,
because the currents of life had drifted them together.
Of course, there was no heart-bond between them.
Henderson was master. Michael was Henderson’s
chattel. Michael was as dead to him as he was him-
self dead to all things.

Yet Jacob Henderson was fair and square, business-
like and methodical. Once each day, when not travel-
ling on the interminable trains, he gave Michael a thor-
ough bath and thoroughly dried him afterward. He
was never harsh nor hasty in the bathing. Michael
never was aware whether he liked or disliked the bath-
ing function. It was all one, part of his own fate in
the world as it was part of Henderson’s fate to bathe
him every so often.

Michael’s own work was tolerably easy, though mo-
notonous. Leaving out the eternal travelling, the
never-ending jumps from town to town and from city
to city, he appeared on the stage once each night for
seven nights in the week and for two afternoon per-
formances in the week. The curtain went up, leaving
him alone on the stage in the full set that befitted a bill-
topper. Henderson stood in the wings, unseen by the
audience, and looked on. The orchestra played four
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 289

of the pieces Michael had been taught by Steward, and
Michael sang them, for his modulated howling was
truly singing. He never responded to more than one
encore, which was always ‘‘ Home, Sweet Home.”
After that, while the audience clapped and stamped its
approval and delight of the dog Caruso, Jacob Hender-
son would appear on the stage, bowing and smiling in
stereotyped gladness and gratefulness, rest his right
hand on Michael’s shoulders with a play-acted assump-
tion of comradeliness, whereupon both Henderson and
Michael would bow ere the final curtain went down.

And yet Michael was a prisoner, a life-prisoner.
Fed well, bathed well, exercised well, he never knew a
moment of freedom. When travelling, days and
nights he spent in the cage, which, however, was gen-
erous enough to allow him to stand at full height and
to turn around without too uncomfortable squirming.
Sometimes, in hotels in country towns, out of the crate
he shared Henderson’s room with him. Otherwise,
unless other animals were showing on the same circuit
time, he had, outside his cage, the freedom of the
animal room attached to the particular theatre where
he performed for from three days to a week.

But there was never a chance, never 2 moment when
he might run free of a cage about him, of the walls of a
room restricting him, of a chain shackled to the collar
about his throat. In good weather, in the afternoons,
Henderson often took him for a walk. But always it
was at the end of achain. And almost always the way
led to some park, where Henderson fastened the other
end of the chain to the bench on which he sat and
browsed Swedenborg. Not one act of free agency was
left to Michael. Other dogs ran by, free, playing with
one another, or behaving bellicosely. If they ap-
290 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

proached him for purposes of investigation or acquaint-
ance, Henderson invariably ceased from his reading
long enough to drive them away.

A life prisoner to a lifeless gaoler, life was all grey
to Michael. His moroseness changed to a deep-seated
melancholy. He ceased to be interested in life and in
the freedom of life. Not that he regarded the play of
life about him with a jaundiced eye, but, rather, that his
eyes became unseeing. Debarred from life, he ignored
life. He permitted himself to become a sheer puppet
slave, eating, taking his baths, travelling in his cage,
performing regularly, and sleeping much.

He had pride — the pride of the thoroughbred; the
pride of the North American Indian enslaved on the
plantations of the West Indies who died uncomplain-
ing and unbroken. So Michael. He submitted to the
cage and the iron of the chain because they were too
strong for his muscles and teeth. . He did his slave-task
of performance and rendered obedience to Jacob Hen-
derson; but he neither loved nor feared that master.
And because of this his spirit turned in on itself. He
slept much, brooded much, and suffered unprotestingly a
great loneliness. Had Henderson made a bid for his
heart, he would surely have responded; but Henderson
had a heart only for the fantastic mental gyrations of
Swedenborg, and merely made his living out of Michael.

Sometimes there were hardships. Michael accepted
them. Especially hard did he find railroad travel in
winter-time, when, on occasion, fresh from the last
night’s performance in a town, he remained for hours
in his crate on a truck waiting for the train that would
take him to the next town of performance. There was
a night on a station platform in Minnesota, when two
dogs of a troupe, on the next truck to his, froze to
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 291

death. He was himself well-frosted, and the cold bit
abominably into his shoulder wounded by the leopard;
but a better constitution and better general care of him
enabled him to survive.

Compared with other show animals, he was well
treated. And much of the ill-treatment accorded other
animals on the same time with him he did not compre-
hend or guess. One turn, with which he played for
three months, was a scandal amongst all vaudeville per-
formers. Even the hardiest of them heartily disliked
the turn and the man, although Duckworth, and Duck-
worth’s Trained Cats and Rats, were an invariable pop-
ular success.

“Trained cats!” sniffed dainty little Pearl La
Pearle, the bicyclist. ‘‘ Crushed cats, that’s what they
are. All the cat has been beaten out of their blood, and
they’ve become rats. You can’t tellme. I know.”

“Trained rats! ’? Manuel Fonseca, the contortionist,
exploded in the bar-room of the Hotel Annandale, after
refusing to drink with Duckworth. ‘ Doped rats, be-
lieve me. Why don’t they jump off when they crawl
along the tight rope with a cat in front and a cat behind?
Because they ain’t got the life in’mto jump. They’re
doped, straight doped when they’re fresh, and starved
afterward so as to make a saving on the dope. They
never are fed. Youcan’ttellme. Iknow. Else why
does he use up anywhere to forty or fifty rats a week?
I know his express shipments, when he can’t buy ’m in
the towns.”

“ My Gawd! ” protested Miss Merle Merryweather,
the Accordion Girl, who looked like sixteen on the
stage, but who, in private life among her grandchil-
dren, acknowledged forty-eight. “My Gawd, how
the public can fall for it gets my honest-to-Gawd goat.
292 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

I looked myself yesterday morning early. Out of
thirty rats there were seven dead — starved to death.
He never feeds them. They’re dying rats, dying of
starvation, when they crawl along that rope. ‘That's
why they crawl. If they had a bit of bread and cheese
in their tummies they’d jump and run to get away from
the cats. They’ re dying, they’re dying right there on
the rope, trying to crawl as a dying man would try to
crawl away from a tiger that was eating him. And
my Gawd! The bonehead audience sits there and ap-
plauds the show as an educational act!”

But the audiences! ‘ Wonderful things kindness will
do with animals,” said a member of one, a banker and
a deacon. ‘‘ Even human love can be taught to them
by kindness. The cat and the rat have been enemies
since the world began. Yet here, to-night, we have
seen them doing highly trained feats together, and
neither a cat committed one hostile or overt act against
a rat, nor ever a rat showed it was afraid of a cat.
Human kindness! The power of human kindness!”

“The lion and the lamb,” said another. ‘‘ We have
it that when the millennium comes the lion and the lamb
will lie down together — and outside each other, my
dear, outside each other. And this is a forecast, a
proving up, by man, ahead of the day. Cats and rats!
Think of it. And it shows conclusively the power of
kindness. I shall see to it at once that we get pets for
our own children, our palm branches. They shall learn
kindness early, to the dog, the cat, yes, even the rat, and
the pretty linnet in its cage.”

“But,” said his dear, beside him, “ you remember
what Blake said:

“* A Robin Redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.’ ”
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 293

“‘ Ah — but not when it is treated truly with kindli-
ness, my dear. I shall immediately order some rabbits,
and a canary or two, and — what sort of a dog would
you prefer our dear little ones to have to play with, my
sweet?”

And his dear looked at him in all his imperturbable
complacent self-consciousness of kindness, and saw her-
self the little rural school-teacher who, with Ella
Wheeler Wilcox and Lord Byron as her idols, and with
the dream of herself writing ‘‘ Poems of Passion,’’ had
come up to Topeka Town to be beaten by the game into
marrying the solid substantial business man beside her,
who enjoyed delight in the spectacle of cats and rats
walking the tight-rope in amity, and who was blissfully
unaware that she was the Robin Redbreast in a cage
that put all heaven in a rage.

‘“‘ The rats are bad enough,” said Miss Merle Merry-
weather. ‘‘ But look how he uses up the cats. He’s
had three die on him in the last two weeks to my certain
knowledge. They’re only alley cats, but they’ve got
feelings. It’s that boxing match that does for them.”

The boxing match, sure always of a great hand from
the audience, invariably concluded Duckworth’s turn.
Two cats, with small boxing gloves, were put on a table
for a friendly bout. Naturally, the cats that per-
formed with the rats were too cowed for this. It
was the fresh cats he used, the ones with spunk and
spirit . . . until they lost all spunk and spirit or sick-
ened and died. To the audience it was a side-splitting
playful encounter between four-legged creatures who
thus displayed a ridiculous resemblance to superior, two-
legged man. . But it was not playful to the cats. They
were always excited into starting a real fight with each
other off stage just before they were brought on. In
294 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

the blows they struck were anger and pain and bewilder-
ment and fear. And the gloves just would come off, so
that they were ripping and tearing at each other, biting
as well as making the fur fly, like furies, when the cur-
tain went down. In the eyes of the audience this ap-
parent impromptu was always the ultimate scream, and
the laughter and applause would compel the curtain up
again to reveal Duckworth and an assistant stagehand,
as if caught by surprise, fanning the two belligerents
with towels.

But the cats themselves were so continually torn and
scratched that the wounds never had a chance to heal
and became infected until they were a mass of sores.
On occasion they died, or, when they had become too
abjectly spiritless to attack even a rat, were set to work
on the tight-rope with the doped starved rats that were
too near dead to run away from them. And, as Miss
Merle Merryweather said: the bonehead audiences,
tickled to death, applauded Duckworth’s Trained Cats
and Rats as an educational act!

A big chimpanzee that covered one of the circuits
with Michael, had an antipathy for clothes. Like a
horse that fights the putting on of the bridle, and, after
it is on, takes no further notice of it, so the big chim-
panzee fought the putting on the clothes. Once on, it
was ready to go out on the stage and through its turn.
But the rub was in putting on the clothes. It took the
owner and two stagehands, pulling him up to a ring in
the wall and throttling him, to dress him — and this,
despite the fact that the owner had long since knocked
out his incisors.

All this cruelty Michael sensed without knowing.
And he accepted it as the way of life, as he accepted the
daylight and the dark, the bite of the frost on bleak and
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 295

windy station platforms, the mysterious land of Other-
where that he knew in dreams and song, the equally
mysterious Nothingness into which had vanished Me-

ringe Plantation and ships and oceans and men and
Steward.
CHAPTER XXXIII

OR two years Michael sang his way over the United
States, to fame for himself and to fortune for
Jacob Henderson. ‘There was never any time off. So
great was his success, that Henderson refused flattering
offers to cross the Atlantic to show in Europe. But off-
time did come to Michael when Henderson fell ill of
typhoid in Chicago.

It was a three-months’ vacation for Michael, who,
well treated but still a prisoner, spent it in a caged ken-
nel in Mulcachy’s Animal Home. Mulcachy, one of
Harris Collins’ brightest graduates, had emulated his
master by setting up in business in Chicago, where he
ran everything with the same rigid cleanliness, sanita-
tion, and scientific cruelty. Michael received nothing
but the excellent food and the cleanliness; but, a solitary
and brooding prisoner in his cage, he could not help but
sense the atmosphere of pain and terror about him
of the animals being broken for the delight of men.

Mulcachy had originated aphorisms of his own which
he continually enunciated, among which were:

“Take it from me, when an animal won’t give way
to pain, it can’t be broke. Pain is the only school-
teacher.”

“Just as you got to take the buck out of a bronco,
so you've got to take the bite out of a lion.”

“You can’t break animals with a feather duster.

The thicker the skull the thicker the crowbar.”
206
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 297

“ They'll always beat you in argument. First thing
is to club the argument out of them.”

““ Heart-bonds between trainers and animals! Son,
that’s dope for the newspaper interviewer. The only
heart-bond I know is a stout stick with some iron on
the end of it.”

“Sure you can make ’m eat outa your hand. But
the thing to watch out for is that they don’t eat your
hand. A blank cartridge in the nose just about that
time is the best preventative I know.”

There were days when all the air was vexed with
roars and squalls of ferocity and agony from the arena,
until the last animal in the cages was excited and ill at
ease. In truth, since it was Mulcachy’s boast that he
could break the best animal living, no end of the hard-
est cases fell to his hand. He had built a reputation
for succeeding where others failed, and, endowed with
fearlessness, callousness, and cunning, he never let his
reputation wane. ‘There was nothing he dared not
tackle, and, when he gave up an animal, the last word
was said. For it, remained nothing but to be a cage-
animal, in solitary confinement, pacing ever up and
down, embittered with all the world of man and roaring
its bitterness to the most delicious enthrillment of the
pay spectators.

During the three months spent by Michael in Mul-
cachy’s Animal Home, occurred two especially hard
cases. Of course, the daily chant of ordinary pain of
training went on all the time through the working hours,
such as of “ good ” bears and lions and tigers that were
made amenable under stress, and of elephants derricked
and gaffed into making the head-stand or into the beat-
ing of a bass drum. But the two cases that were ex-
ceptional, put a mood of depression and fear into all
298 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

the listening animals, such as humans might experience
in an ante-room of hell, listening to the flailing and the
flaying of their fellows who had preceded them into the
torture chamber.

The first was of the big Indian tiger. Free-born in
the jungle, and free all his days, master, according to
his nature and prowess, of all other living creatures
including his fellow tigers, he had come to grief in the
end; and, from the trap to the cramped cage, by ele-
phant-back and railroad and steamship, ever-in the
cramped cage, he had journeyed across seas and con-
tinents to Mulcachy’s Animal Home. Prospective buy-
ers had examined but not dared to purchase. But Mul-
cachy had been undeterred. His own fighting blood
leapt hot at sight of the magnificent striped cat. It was
a challenge of the brute in him to excel. And, two
weeks of hell, for the great tiger and for all the other
animals, were required to teach him his first lesson.

Ben Bolt he had been named, and he arrived, indom-
itable and irreconcilable, though almost paralysed from
eight weeks of cramp in his narrow cage which had re-
stricted all movement. Mulcachy should have under-
taken the job immediately, but two weeks were lost by
the fact that he had got married and honeymooned for
that length of time. And in that time, in a large cage
of concrete and iron, Ben Bolt had exercised and re-
covered the use of his muscles, and added to his hatred
of the two legged things, puny against him in them-
selves, who by trick and wile had so helplessly impris-
oned him. ,

So, on this morning when hell yawned for him, he
was ready and eager to meet all comers. They came,
equipped with formulas, nooses, and forked iron bars.
Five of them tossed nooses in through the bars upon the
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 299

floor of his cage. He snarled and struck at the curling
ropes, and for ten minutes was a grand and impossible
wild creature, lacking in nothing save the wit and the
' patience possessed by the miserable two-legged things.
And then, grown impatient and careless of the inani-
mate ropes, he paused, snarling at the men, with one
hind foot resting inside a noose. The next moment,
craftily lifted up around the girth of his leg by an iron
fork, the noose tightened and the bite of it sank home
into his flesh and pride. He leaped, he roared, he was
a maniac of ferocity. Again and again, almost burning
their palms, he tore the rope smoking through their
hands. But ever they took in the slack and paid it out
again, until, ere he was aware, a similar noose tight-
ened on his fore-leg. What he had done was nothing
to what he now did. But he was stupid and impatient.
The men creatures were wise and patient, and a third
leg and a fourth leg were finally, noosed, so that, with
many men tailing onto the ropes, he was dragged igno-
miniously on his side to the bars, and, ignominiously,
through the bars were hauled his four legs, his chiefest
weapons of offence after his terribly fanged jaws.

And then a puny man creature, Mulcachy himself,
dared openly and brazenly to enter the cage and ap-
proachhim. He sprang to be at him, or, rather, strove
so to spring, but was withstrained by his four legs
through the bars which he could not draw back and get
under him. And Mulcachy knelt beside him, dared
kneel beside him, and helped the fifth noose over his
head and round his neck. Then his head was drawn
to the bars as helplessly as his legs had been drawn
through. Next, Mulcachy laid hands on him, on his
head, on his ears, on his very nose within an inch of his
fangs; and he could do nothing but snarl and roar and
300 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

pant for breath as the noose shut off his breathing.

Quivering, not with fear but with rage, Ben Bolt
perforce endured the buckling around his throat of a
thick, broad collar of leather to which was attached a
very stout and a very long trailing rope. After that,
when Mulcachy had left the cage, one by one the five
nooses were artfully manipulated off his legs and his
neck. Again, after this prodigious indignity, he was
free — within his cage. He went up into the air.
With returning breath he roared his rage. He struck
at the trailing rope that offended his nerves, clawed at
the trap of the collar that encased his neck, fell, rolled
over, offended his body-nerves more and more by en-
tangling contacts with the rope, and for half an hour
exhausted himself in the futile battle with the inanimate
thing. Thus tigers are broken.

At the last, wearied, even with sensations of sick-
ness from the nervous strain put upon himself by his
own anger, he lay down in the middle of the floor, lash-
ing his tail, hating with his eyes, and accepting the cling-
ing thing about his neck which he had learned he could
not get rid of.

To his amazement, if such a thing be possible in the
mental processes of a tiger, the rear door to his cage
was thrown open and left open. He regarded the
aperture with belligerent suspicion. No one and no
threatening danger appeared in the doorway. But his
suspicion grew. Always, among these man animals,
occurred what he did not know and could not compre-
hend. His preference was to remain where he was,
but from behind, through the bars of the cage, came
shouts and yells, the lash of whips, and the painful
thrusts of the long iron forks. Dragging the rope be-
hind him, with no thought of escape, but in the hope
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 301

that he would get at his tormentors, he leaped into the
rear passage that ran behind the circle of permanent
cages. The passage way was deserted and dark, but
ahead he saw light. With great leaps and roars, he
rushed in that direction, arousing a pandemonium of
roars and screams from the animals in the cages.

He bounded through the light, and into the light,
dazzled by the brightness of it, and crouched down,
with long lashing tail, to orient himself to the situation.
But it was only another and larger cage that he was in,
a very large cage, a big, bright performing-arena that
was allcage. Save for himself, the arena was deserted,
although, overhead, suspended from the roof-bars, were
block-and-tackle and seven strong iron chains that drew
his instant suspicion and caused him to roar at them.

For half an hour he roamed the arena, which was
the greatest area of restricted freedom he had known
in the ten weeks of his captivity. ‘Then, a hooked iron
rod, thrust through the bars, caught and drew the bight
of his trailing rope into the hands of the men outside.
Immediately ten of them had hold of it, and he would
have charged up to the bars at them had not, at that
moment, Mulcachy entered the arena through a door
on the opposite side. No bars stood between Ben Bolt
and this creature, and Ben Bolt charged him. Even
as he charged he was aware of suspicion in that the
small, fragile man-creature before him did not flee or
crouch down, but stood awaiting him.

Ben Bolt never reached him. First, with an access
of caution, he craftily ceased from his charge, and,
crouching, with lashing tail, studied the man who
seemed so easily his. Mulcachy was equipped with a
long-lashed whip and a sharp-pronged fork of iron.
In his belt, loaded with blank-cartridges, was a revolver.
302 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

Bellying closer to the ground, Ben Bolt advanced
upon him, creeping slowly like a cat stalking a mouse.
When he came to his next pause, which was within cer-
tain leaping distance, he crouched lower, gathered him-
self for the leap, then turned his head to regard the
men at his back outside the cage. The trailing rope in
their hands, to his neck, he had forgotten.

“* Now you might as well be good, old man,” Mul-
cachy addressed him in soft, caressing tones, taking a
step toward him and holding in advance the iron fork.

This merely incensed the huge, magnificent creature.
He rumbled a low, tense growl, flattened his ears back,
and soared into the air, his paws spread so that the
claws stood out like talons, his tail behind him as stiff
and straight as a rod. Neither did the man crouch
or flee, nor did the beast attain to him. At the height
of his leap the rope tightened taut on his neck, causing
him to describe‘a somersault and fall heavily to the floor
on his side.

Before he could regain his feet, Mulcachy was upon
him, shouting to his small audience: ‘‘ Here’s where
we pound the argument out of him!” And pound he
did, on the nose with the butt of the whip, and jab he
did, with the iron fork to the ribs. He rained a hur-
ricane of blows and jabs on the animal’s most sensitive
parts. Ever Ben Bolt leaped to retaliate, but was
thrown by the ten men tailed on to the rope, and, each
time, even as he struck the floor on his side, Mulcachy
was upon him, pounding, smashing, jabbing. His pain
was exquisite, especially that of his tender nose. And
the creature who inflicted the pain was as fierce and
terrible as he, even more so because he was more in-
telligent. In but few minutes, dazed by the pain, ap-
palled by his inability to rend and destroy the man who
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 303

inflicted it, Ben Bolt lost his courage. He fled ig-
nominiously before the little, two-legged creature who
was more terrible than himself who was a full-grown
Royal Bengal tiger. He leaped high in the air in sheer
panic; he ran here and there, with lowered head to
avoid the rain of pain. He even charged the sides of
the arena, springing up and vainly trying to climb the
slippery vertical bars. .

Ever, like an avenging devil, Mulcachy pursued and
smashed and jabbed, gritting through his teeth: ‘“‘ You
will argue, will you? I'll teach you what argument
is! There! Take that! And that! And that!”

“ Now I’ve got him afraid of me, and the rest ought
to be easy,” he announced, resting off and panting hard
from his exertions, while the great tiger crouched and
quivered and shrank back from him against the base of
the arena-bar. ‘“— Take a five-minute spell, you fel-
lows, and we'll get our breaths.”

Lowering one of the iron chairs, and attaching it
firmly in its place on the floor, Mulcachy prepared for
the teaching of the first trick. Ben Bolt, jungle-born
and jungle-reared, was to be compelled to sit in the
chair in ludicrous and tragic imitation of men-creatures.
But Mulcachy was not quite ready. The first lesson
of fear of him must be reiterated and driven home.

Stepping to a near safe distance, he lashed Ben Bolt
on the nose. He repeated it. He did it a score of
times, and scores of times. Turn his head as he would,
ever Ben Bolt received the bite of the whip on his fear-
fully bruised nose; for Mulcachy was as expert as a
stage-driver in his manipulation of the whip, and un-
erringly the lash snapped and cracked and stung Ben
Bolt’s nose wnerever Ben Bolt at the moment might

have it.
304 MICHAEL —BROTHER OF JERRY

When it became maddeningly unendurable, he
sprang, only to be jerked back by the ten strong men
who held the rope to his neck. And wrath, and feroc-
ity, and intent to destroy, passed out utterly from the
tiger’s inflamed brain, until he knew fear, again and
again, always fear and only fear, utter and abject fear,
of this human mite who searched him with such pain.

Then the lesson of the first trick was taken up.
Mulcachy tapped the chair sharply with the butt of the
whip to draw the animal’s attention to it, then flicked
the whip-lash sharply on his nose. At the same mo-
ment, an attendant, through the bars behind, drove an
iron fork into his ribs to force him away from the bars
and toward the chair. He crouched forward, then
shrank back against the side-bars. Again the chair
was rapped, his nose was lashed, his ribs were jabbed,
and he was forced by pain toward the chair. This
went on interminably — for a quarter of an hour, for
half an hour, for an hour; for the men-animals had the
patience of gods while he was only a jungle-brute.
Thus tigers are broken. And the verb means just what
it means. A performing animal is broken. Some-
thing breaks in an animal of the wild ere such an ani-
mal submits to do tricks before pay audiences.

Mulcachy ordered an assistant to enter the arena
with him. Since he. could not compel the tiger directly
to sit in the chair, he must employ other means. The
rope about Ben Bolt’s neck was passed up through the
bars and rove through the block-and-tackle. At signal
from Mulcachy, the ten men hauled away. Snarling,
struggling, choking, in a fresh madness of terror at
this new outrage, Ben Bolt was slowly hoisted by his
neck up from the floor, until, quite clear of it, whirling,
squirming, battling, suspended by his neck like a man
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 305

being hanged, his wind was shut off and he began to
suffocate. He coiled and twisted, the splendid muscles
of his body enabling him almost to tie knots in it.

The block-and-tackle, running like a trolley on the
overhead track, made it possible for the assistant to
seize his tail and drag him through the air till he was
above the chair. His helpless body guided thus by
the tail, his chest jabbed by the iron fork in Mulcachy’s
hands, the rope was suddenly lowered, and Ben Bolt,
with swimming brain, found himself seated in the chair.
On the instant he leaped for the floor, received a blow
on the nose from the heavy whip-handle, and had a
blank cartridge fired straight into his nostril. His
madness of pain and fear was multiplied. He sprang
away in flight, but Mulcachy’s voice rang out, ‘ Hoist
him!” and he slowly rose in the air again, hanging by
his neck, and began to strangle.

Once more he was swung into position by his tail,
jabbed in the chest, and lowered suddenly on the run —
but so suddenly, with a frantic twist of his body on his
. part, that he fell violently across the chair on his belly.
What little wind was left him from the strangling,
seemed to have been ruined out of him by the violence
of the fall. The glare in his eyes was maniacal and
swimming. He panted frightfully, and his head rolled
back and forth. Slaver dripped from his mouth, blood
ran from his nose.

“Hoist away!” Mulcachy shouted.

And again, struggling frantically as the tightening
collar shut off his wind, Ben Bolt was slowly lifted into
the air. So wildly did he struggle that, ere his hind
feet were off the floor, he pranced back and forth, so
that when he was heaved clear his body swung like a
huge pendulum. Over the chair, he was dropped, and
306 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

for a fraction of a second the posture was his of a man
sitting in a chair. Then he uttered a terrible cry and
sprang.

It was neither snarl, nor growl, nor roar, that cry,
but a sheer scream, as if something had broken inside
of him. He missed Mulcachy by inches, as another
blank cartridge exploded up his other nostril and as
the men with the rope snapped him back so abruptly as
almost to break his neck.

This time, lowered quickly, he sank into the chair
like a half-empty sack of meal, and continued so to
sink, until, crumpling at the middle, his great tawny
head falling forward, he lay on the floor unconscious.
His tongue, black and swollen, lolled out of his mouth.
As buckets of water were poured on him he groaned
and moaned. And here ended the first lesson.

“It’s all right,’ Mulcachy said, day after day, as
the teaching went on. ‘‘ Patience and hard work will
pull off the trick. I’ve got his goat. He’s afraid of
me. All that’s required is time, and time adds to value
with an animal like him.”

Not on that first day, nor on the second, nor on the
third, did the requisite something really break: inside
Ben Bolt. But at the end of a fortnight it did break.
For the day came when Mulcachy rapped the chair
with his whip-butt, when the attendant through the
bars jabbed the iron fork into Ben Bolt’s ribs, and when
Ben Bolt, anything but royal, slinking like a beaten
alley cat, in pitiable terror, crawled over to the chair
and sat down in it like a man. He now was an “ edu-
cated” tiger. ‘The sight of him, so sitting, tragically
travestying man, has been considered, and is consid-
ered, “ educative’ by multitudinous audiences.

The second case, that of St. Elias, was a harder one,
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 307

and it was marked down against Mulcachy as one of
his rare failures, though all admitted that it was an
unavoidable failure. St. Elias was a huge monster of
an Alaskan bear, who was good-natured and even fa-
cetious and humorous after the way of bears. But
he had a will of his own that was correspondingly as
stubborn as his bulk. He could be persuaded to do
things, but he would not tolerate being compelled to do
things. And in the trained-animal world, where turns
must go off like clock-work, is little or no space for
persuasion. An animal must do its turn, and do it
promptly. Audiences will not brook the delay of wait-
ing while a trainer tries to persuade a crusty or roguish
beast to do what the audience has paid to see it do.

So St. Elias received his first lesson in compulsion.
It was also his last lesson, and it never progressed so
far as the training-arena, for it took place in his own
cage.

Noosed in the customary way, his four legs dragged
through the bars and his head, by means of a “‘ choke ”’-
collar, drawn against the bars, he was first of all mani-
cured. Each one of his great claws was cut off flush
with his flesh. The men outside did this. Then Mul-
cachy, on the inside, punched his nose. Not lightly as
it sounds was this operation. The punch was a per-
foration. Thrusting the instrument into the huge
bear’s nostril, Mulcachy cut a clean round chunk of
living meat out of it. Mulcachy knew the bear busi-
ness. At all times, to make an untrained bear obey,
one must be fast to some sensitive portion of the bear.
The ears, the nose; and the eyes are the accessible sen-
sitive parts, and, the eyes being out of the question,
remain the nose and the ears as the parts to which to
make fast.
308 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Through the perforation Mulcachy immediately
clamped a metal ring. To the ring he fastened a long
“Junge ’-rope, which was well-named. Any unruly
lunge, at any time during all the subsequent life of St.
Elias, could thus be checked by the man who held the
lunge-rope. His destiny was patent and ordained.
Forever, as long as he lived and breathed, would he
be a prisoner and slave to the rope in the ring in his
nostril.

The nooses were slipped, and St. Elias was at liberty,
within the confines of his cage, to get acquainted with
the ring in his nose. With his powerful fore-paws,
standing erect and roaring, he proceeded to get ac-
quainted with the ring. It certainly was not a thing
persuasible. It was living fire. And he tore at it with
his paws as he would have torn at the stings of bees
when raiding a honey-tree. He tore the thing out, rip-
ping the ring clear through the flesh and transforming
the round perforation into a ragged chasm of pain.

Mulcachy cursed. ‘‘ Here’s where hell coughs,” he
said. The nooses were introduced again. Again St.
Elias, helpless on his side against and partly through
the bars, had his nose punched. ‘This time it was the
other nostril. And hell coughed. As before, the mo-
ment he was released, he tore the ring out through his
flesh. ;
Mulcachy was disgusted. ‘‘ Listen to reason, won't
you?” he objurgated, as, this time, the reason he re-
ferred to was the introduction of the ring clear through
both nostrils, higher up, and through the central divid-
ing wall of cartilage. But St. Elias was unreasonable.
Unlike Ben Bolt, there was nothing inside of him weak
enough, or nervous enough, or high-strung enough, to
break. ‘The moment he was free he ripped the ring
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 309

away with half of his nose along with it. Mulcachy
punched St. Elias’ right ear. St. Elias tore his right
ear to shreds. Mulcachy punched his left ear. He
tore his left ear to shreds. And Mulcachy gave in.
He had to. And he said plaintively:

‘““We’re beaten. There ain’t nothing left to make
fast to.”

Later, when St. Elias was condemned to be a “ cage-
animal ” all his days, Mulcachy was wont to grumble:

“‘ He was the most unreasonable animal! Couldn’t
do a thing with him. Couldn’t ever get anything to
make fast to.”
CHAPTER XXXIV

T was in the Orpheum Theatre, of Oakland, Cali-
fornia, and Harley Kennan was in the «act of
reaching under his seat for his hat, when his wife said:
‘““Why, this isn’t the intermission. There’s one
more turn yet.”

“A dog turn,” he answered, and thereby explained;
for it was his practice to leave a theatre during the
period of the performance of an animal-act.

Villa Kennan glanced hastily at the programme.

“Of course,” she said, then added: ‘“ But it’s a
singing dog. A dog Caruso. And it points out that
there is no one on the stage with the dog. Let us stay
for once, and see how he compares with Jerry.”

‘‘ Some poor brute tormented into howling,” Harley
grumbled.

‘But it has the stage to itself,” Villa urged. ‘‘ Be-
sides, if it is painful, then we can go out. I'll go out
with you. But I just would like to see how much better
Jerry sings than does he. And it says an Irish terrier,
too.”

So Harley Kennan remained. ‘The two burnt-cork
comedians finished their turn and their three ‘encores,
and the curtain behind them went up on a full set of
an empty stage. A rough-coated Irish terrier entered
at a sedate walk, sedately walked forward to the centre,
nearly to the footlights, and faced the leader of the
orchestra. As the programme had stated, he had the
stage to himself.

310
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 311

The orchestra played the opening strains of “‘ Sweet
Bye and Bye.” The dog yawned and sat down. But
the orchestra was thoroughly instructed to play the
opening strains over and over, until the dog responded,
and then to follow on with him. By the third time,
the dog opened his mouth and began. It was not a
mere howling. For that matter, it was too mellow to
be classified as a howl at all. Nor was it merely rhyth-
mic. ‘The notes the dog sang were of the air, and they
were correct.

But Villa Kennan scarcely heard.

“He has Jerry beaten a mile,” Harley muttered to
her.

‘* Listen,” she replied, in tense whispers. ‘“‘ Did you
ever see that dog before?”

Harley shook his head.

“You have seen him before,” she insisted. ‘‘ Look
at that crinkled ear. Think! Think back! Remem-
ber!”

Still her husband shook his head.

“Remember the Solomons,” she pressed. “ Re-
member the Ariel. Remember when we came back
from Malaita, where we picked Jerry up, to Tulagi,
that he had a brother there, a nigger-chaser on a
schooner.”

“ And his name was Michael — go on.”

“ And he had that self-same crinkled ear,” she hur-
ried. ‘And he was rough-coated. And he was full
brother to Jerry. And their father and mother were
Terrence and Biddy of Meringe. And Jerry is our
Sing Song Silly. And this dog sings. And he has a
crinkled ear. And his name is Michael.”

“ Tmpossible,” said Harley.

“It is when the impossible comes true that life proves
312 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

worth while,” she retorted. ‘‘ And this is one of those
worth-whiles of impossibles. I know it.”

Still the man of him said impossible, and still the
woman of her insisted that this was an impossible come
true. By this time the dog on the stage was singing
“God Save the King.”

“That shows I am right,” Villa contended. ‘‘ No
American, in America, would teach a dog ‘ God Save
the King.’ An Englishman originally owned that dog
and taught it. The Solomons are British.”

“That’s a far cry,” he smiled. ‘“‘ But what gets me
is that ear. J remember it now. I remember the day
when we were on the beach at Tulagi with Jerry, and
when his brother came ashore from the Eugénie ina
whaleboat. And his brother had that self-same, loppy,
crinkled ear.”

‘And more,” Villa argued. ‘‘ How many singing
dogs have we ever known? Only one — Jerry. Evi-
dently such a type occurs rarely. The same family
would more likely produce similar types than different
families. The family of Terrence and Biddy produced
Jerry. And this is Michael.”

““He was rough-coated, along with a crinkly ear,”
Harley meditated back. ‘‘I see him distinctly as he
stood up in the bow of the whaleboat and as he ran
along the beach side by side with Jerry.”

“If Jerry should to-morrow run side by side with
him you would be convinced?” she queried.

“Tt was their trick, and the trick of Terrence and
Biddy before them,” he agreed. ‘‘ But it’s a far cry
from the Solomons to the United States.”’

“‘ Jerry is such a far cry,” she replied. ‘‘ And if
Jerry won from the Solomons to California, then is
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 313

there anything more remarkable in Michael so win-
ning? — Oh, listen!”

For the dog on the stage, now responding to its one
encore, was singing ‘“‘ Home, Sweet Home.” This
finished, Jacob Henderson, to tumultuous applause,
came on the stage from the wings and joined the dog
in bowing. Villa and Harley sat in silence for a mo-
ment. Then Villa said, apropos of nothing:

“TI have been sitting here and feeling very grateful
for one particular thing.”

He waited.

“Tt is that we are so abominably wealthy,” she con-
cluded.

“Which means that you want the dog, must have
him, and are going to get him, just because I can afford
to do it for you,” he teased.

‘Because you can’t afford not to,” she answered.
“You must know he is Jerry’s brother. At least, you
must have a sneaking suspicion... ?”

‘“‘T have,” he nodded. “ The thing that can’t some-
times does, and there is a chance that this may be one
of those times. Of course, it isn’t Michael; but, on
the other hand, what’s to prevent it from being
Michael? Let us go behind and find out.”

“More agents of the society for the prevention of
cruelty to animals,” was Jacob Henderson’s thought,
as the man and woman, accompanied by the manager
of the theatre, were shown into his tiny dressing room.
Michael, on a chair and half asleep, took no notice of
them. While Harley talked with Henderson, Villa
investigated Michael; and Michael scarcely opened his
eyes ere he closed them again. Too sour on the human
314 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

world, and too glum in his own soured nature, he was
anything save his old courtly self to chance humans
who broke in upon him to pat his head, and say silly
things, and go their way never to be seen by him
again.

Villa Kennan, with a pang of disappointment at such
rebuff, forewent her overtures for the moment, and
listened to what tale Jacob Henderson could tell of his
dog. Harry Del Mar, a trained-animal man, had
picked the dog up somewhere on the Pacific Coast, most
probably in San Francisco, she learned; but, having
taken the dog East with him, Harry Del Mar had died
by accident in New York before telling anybody any-
thing about the animal. That was all, except that
Henderson had paid two thousand dollars to one,
Harris Collins, and had found the investment the finest
he had ever made.

Villa turned back to the dog.

‘“‘ Michael,” she called, caressingly, almost in a
whisper.

And Michael’s eyes partly opened, the base-muscles
of his ears stiffened, and his body quivered.

““ Michael,” she repeated.

This time, raising his head, the eyes open and the
ears stiffly erect, Michael looked at her. Not since on
the beach at Tulagi had he heard that name uttered.
Across the years and the seas the word came to him out
of the past. Its effect was electrical, for on the instant
all the connotations of ‘“‘ Michael” flooded his con-
sciousness. He saw again Captain Kellar, of the
Eugénie, who had last called him it, and Mister Hag-
gin, and Derby, and Bob of Meringe Plantation, and
Biddy and Terrence, and, not least among these
shades of the vanished past, his brother Jerry.
eee

MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 315

But was it the vanished past? The name which had
ceased for years, had come back. It had entered the
room along with this man and woman. All this he did
not reason; but indubitably, as if he had so reasoned,
he acted upon it.

He jumped from the chair and ran to the woman.
He smelled her hand, and smelled her as she patted
him. Then, as he recognised her, he went wild. He
sprang away, dashing around and around the room,
sniffing under the washstand and smelling out the cor-
ners. As in a frenzy he was back to the woman,
whimpering eagerly as she strove to pet him. The
next moment, still in a frenzy, he was away again,
scurrying about the room and still whimpering.

Jacob Henderson looked on with mild disapproval.

‘“‘He never cuts up that way,” he said. ‘He is a
very quiet dog. Maybe it is a fit he is going to have,
though he never has fits.”

No one understood, not even Villa Kennan. But
Michael understood. He was looking for that van-
ished world which had rushed back upon him at sound
of his old-time name. If this name could come to him
out of the Nothingness, as this woman had whom once
he had seen treading the beach at Tulagi, then could
all other things of Tulagi and the Nothingness come
to him. As she was there, before him, in the living
flesh, uttering his name, so might Captain Kellar, and
Mister Haggin, and Jerry be there, somewhere in the
very room or just outside the door.

He ran to the door, whimpering as he scratched at it.

“Maybe he thinks there is something outside,” said
Jacob Henderson, opening the door for him.

And Michael did so think. As a matter of course,
through that open door, he was prepared to have the
316 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

South Pacific Ocean flow in, bearing on its bosom
schooners and ships, islands and reefs, and all men and
animals and things he once had known and still remem-
bered.

But no past flowed in through the door. Outside
was the usual present. He came back dejectedly to
the woman, who still called him Michael as she petted
him. She, at any rate, was real. Next he carefully
smelled and identified the man with the beach of Tulagi
and the deck of the Ariel, and again his excitement
began to mount.

‘““Oh, Harley, I know it is he!” Villa cried.
““Can’t you test him? Can’t you prove him?”

“But how?” Harley pondered. “ He seems to
recognise his name. It excites him. And though he
never knew us very well, he seems to remember us and
to be excited by us, too. If only he could talk... .”

“Oh, talk! Talk!’ Villa pleaded with Michael,
catching both sides of his head and jaws in her hands
and swaying him back and forth.

“Be careful, madam,” Jacob Henderson warned.
“He is a very sour dog, and he don’t let people take
such liberties.”

““He does me,” she laughed, half-hysterically.
“Because he knows me. . . . Harley!” She broke
off as the great idea dawned on her. “I have a test.
Listen! Remember, Jerry was a nigger-chaser before
we got him. And Michael was a nigger-chaser. You
talk in beche-de-mer. Appear angry with some black
boy, and see how it will affect him.”

“T’ll have to remember hard to resurrect any beche-
de-mer,” Harley said, nodding approval of the sug-
gestion.

‘“* At the same time Ill distract him,” she rushed on.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 317

Sitting down and bending forward to Michael so
that his head was buried in her arms and breast, she
began swaying him and crooning to him as was her
wont with Jerry. Nor did he resent the liberty she
took, and, like Jerry, he yielded to her crooning and
softly began to croon with her. She signalled Harley
‘with her eyes.

““My word!” he began, in tones of wrath. ‘ What
name you fella boy stop’m along this fella place?
You make’m me cross along you any amount! ”

And at the words Michael bristled, dragged himself
clear of the woman’s detaining hands, and, with a
snarl, whirled about to get a look at the black boy who
must have just then entered the room and aroused the
white-god’s ire. But there was no black boy. He
looked on, still bristling, to the door. Harley trans-
ferred his own gaze to the door, and Michael knew,
beyond all doubt, that outside the door was standing
a Solomons nigger.

“Hey! Michael!” Harley shouted. ‘‘ Chase’m
that black fella boy overside!.”’

With a roaring snarl, Michael flung himself at the
door. Such was the fury and weight of his onslaught
that the latch flew loose and the door swung open.
The emptiness of the space which he had expected to
see occupied, was appalling, and he shrank down, sick
and dizzy with the baffling apparitional past that thus
vexed his consciousness.

“ And now,” said Harley to Jacob Henderson, “ we
will talk business. . . .”
CHAPTER XXXV

HEN the train arrived at Glen Ellen, in the Val-

ley of the Moon, it was Harley Kennan him-

self, at the side-door of the baggage car, who caught

hold of Michael and swung him to the ground. For

the first time Michael had performed a railroad jour-

ney uncrated. Merely with collar and chain had he

travelled up from Oakland. In the waiting automo-

bile he found Villa Kennan, and, chain removed, sat
beside her and between her and Harley.

As the machine purred along the two miles of road
that wound up the side of Sonoma Mountain, Michael
scarcely looked at the forest trees and vistas of wan-
dering glades. He had been in the United States three
years, during which time he had been kept a close
prisoner. Cage and crate and chain had been his por-
tion, and narrow rooms, baggage cars, and station
platforms. The nearest: he had come to the country
was when chained to benches in the various parks while
Jacob Henderson studied Swedenborg. So that trees
and hills and fields had ceased to mean anything.
They were something inaccessible, as inaccessible as the
blue of the sky or the drifting cloud-fleeces. Thus did
he regard the trees and hills and fields, if the negative
act of not regarding a thing at all can be considered a
state of mind.

“Don’t seem to be enthusiastic over the ranch, eh,
Michael?” Harley remarked.

He looked up at sound of his old name, and made
318
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 319

acknowledgment by flattening his ears a quivering trifle
and by touching his nose against Harley’s shoulder.

‘““Nor does he seem demonstrative,” was Villa’s
judgment. “‘ At least, nothing like Jerry.”

“Wait till they meet,” Harley smiled in anticipation.
ae will furnish enough excitement for both of
them.”

‘If they remember each other after all this time,”
said Villa. ‘‘ I wonder if they will.”

“They did at Tulagi,” he reminded her. ‘ And
they were full grown and hadn’t seen each other since
they were puppies. Remember how they barked and
scampered all about the beach. Michael was the
hurly-burly one. At least he made twice as much
noise.”

“But he seems dreadfully grown-up and subdued
now.”

““ Three years ought to have subdued him,” Harley
insisted.

But Villa shook her head.

As the machine drew up at the house and Kennan
first stepped out, a dog’s whimperingly joyous bark of
welcome struck Michael as not altogether unfamiliar.
The joyous bark turned to a suspicious and jealous
snarl as Jerry scented the other dog’s presence from
Harley’s caressing hand. The next moment he had
traced the original source of the scent into the limousine

and sprung in after it. With snarl and forward leap
Michael met the snarling rush less than half way, and
was rolled over on the bottom of the car.

Whe Irish terrier, under all circumstances amenable
to the control of the master as are few breeds of dogs,
was instantly manifest in Jerry and Michael as Harley
Kennan’s voice rang out. ‘They separated, and, de-
320 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

spite the rumbling of low growling in their throats,
refrained from attacking each other as they plunged
out to the ground. The little set-to had occurred in
so few seconds, or fractions of seconds, that they had
not begun to betray recognition of each other until they
were out of the machine. They were still comically
stiff-legged and bristly as they aloofly sniffed noses.

“They know each other!” Villa cried. ‘‘ Let’s
wait and see what they will do.”

As for Michael, he accepted, without surprise, the
indubitable fact that Jerry had come back out of the
Nothingness. Things of this sort had begun to hap-
pen rapidly, but it was not the things themselves, but
the connotations of them, that almost stunned him.
If the man and woman, whom he had last seen at
Tulagi, and, likewise, Jerry, had come back from the
Nothingness, then could come, and might come at any
moment, the beloved Steward.

Instead of responding to Jerry, Michael sniffed and
glanced about in quest of Steward. Jerry’s first ex-
pression of greeting and friendliness took the form of
a desire to run. He barked invitation to his brother,
scampered away half a dozen jumps, scampered back,
and dabbed playfully at Michael with one fore-paw in
added emphasis of invitation ere he scampered away
again.

For so many years had Michael not run with another
dog, that at first Jerry’s invitation had little meaning
to him. Nevertheless, such running was an habitual
expression of happiness and friendliness in dogdom,
and especially strong had been his inheritance of it from
Terrence and Biddy, the noted love-runners of the
Solomons.
~“

MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 321

The next time Jerry dabbed at him with a paw,
barked, and scurried away in an enticing semicircle,
Michael started involuntarily though slowly after him.
But Michael did not bark; and, after half a dozen
leaps, he came to a full stop and looked to Villa and
Harley for permission.

‘* All right, Michael,” Harley called heartily, delib-
erately turning his shoulder in the non-interest of con-
sent as he extended his hand to help Villa from the
machine.

Michael sprang away again, and was numbly aware
of an ancient joy as he shouldered Jerry who shoul-
dered against him as they ran side by side. But most
of the joy was Jerry’s, as was the wildest of the scurry-
ing and the racing and the shouldering, of the body-
wriggling, and ear-pricking, and yelping cries. Also,
Jerry barked; and Michael did not bark.

“* He used to bark,” said Villa.

“ Much more than Jerry,” Harley supplemented.

“Then they have taken the bark out of him,” she
concluded. ‘‘ He must have gone through terrible ex-
periences to have lost his bark.”

The green California spring merged into tawny sum-
mer, as Jerry, ever running afield, made Michael
acquainted with the farthest and highest reaches of the
Kennan ranch in the Valley of the Moon. The pag-
eant of the wild flowers vanished until all that lingered
on the burnt hillsides were orange poppies faded to
palest gold, and Mariposa lilies, wind-blown on slender
stems amidst the desiccated grasses, that smouldered
like ornate spotted moths fluttering in rest for a space
between flight and flight.
322 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

And Michael, a follower always where the exuberant
Jerry led, sought throughout the passing year for what
he could not find.

‘“* Looking for something, looking for something,”
Harley would say to Villa. “Itisnotalive. Itis not
here. Now just what is it he is always. looking
for?”

Steward it was, and Michael never found him. ‘The
Nothingness held him and would not yield him up, al-
though, could Michael have journeyed a ten-days’
steamer-journey into the South Pacific to the Mar-
quesas, Steward he would have found, and, along with
him, Kwaque and the Ancient Mariner, all three living
like lotus-eaters in the beach-paradise of Taiohae.
Also, in and about their grass-thatched bungalow under
the lofty avocado trees, Michael would have found
other pets — cats, and kittens, and pigs, donkeys and
ponies, a pair of love-birds, and a mischievous monkey
or two; but never a dog and never a cockatoo. For
Dag Daughtry, with violence of language, had laid a
taboo upon dogs. After Killeny Boy, he averred,
there should be no other dog. And Kwaque, without
averring anything at all, resolutely refrained from pos-
sessing himself of the white cockatoos brought ashore
by the sailors off the trading schooners.

But Michael was long in giving over his search for
Steward, and, running the mountain trails or scrambling
and sliding down into the deep canyons, was ever ex-
pectant and ready for Steward to step forth before him,
or to pick up the unmistakable scent that would lead
him to him.

‘Looking for something, looking for something,”’
Harley Kennan would chant curiously, as he rode be-
side Villa and observed Michael’s unending search.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 323

" Now Jerry’s after rabbits, and fox-trails; but you’ll
notice they don’t interest Michael much. They’re not

. what he’s after. He behaves like one who has lost a

great treasure and doesn’t know where he lost it nor
where to look for it.”

Much Michael learned from Jerry of the varied life
of the forest and fields. To run with Jerry seemed
the one pleasure he took, for he never played. Play
had passed out of him. He was not precisely morose
or gloomy from his years on the trained-animal stage
and in Harris Collins’ college of pain, but he was
sobered, subdued. The spring and the spontaneity had
gone out of him. Just as the leopard had claw-marked
his shoulder so that damp and frosty weather made the
pain of the old wound come back, so was his mind
marked by what he had gone through. He liked
Jerry, was glad to be with him and to run with him;
but it was Jerry who was ever in the lead, who ever
raised the hue and cry of hunting pursuit, who barked
indignation and eager yearning at a tree’d squirrel in
refuge forty feet above the ground. Michael looked
on and listened, but took no part in such antics of en-
thusiasm.

In the same way he looked on when Jerry fought
fearful comic battles with Norman Chief, the great
Percheron stallion. It was only play, for Jerry and
Norman Chief were tried friends; and, though the huge
horse, ears laid back, mouth open to bite, pursued
Jerry in mad gyrations all about the paddock, it was
with no thought of inflicting hurt, but merely to act up
to his part in the sham battle. Yet no invitation of
Jerry’s could induce Michael to join in the fun. He
contented himself with sitting down outside the rails

and looking on.
324 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

“Why play?” might Michael have asked, who had
had all play taken out of him.

But when it came to serious work, he was there even
ahead of Jerry. On account of hoof-and-mouth dis-
ease and of hog-cholera, strange dogs were taboo on
the Kennan ranch. It did not take Michael long to
learn this, and stray dogs got short shrift from him.
With never a warning bark nor growl, in deadly si-
lence, he rushed them, slashed and bit them, rolled them
over and over in the dust, and drove them from the
place. It was like nigger-chasing, a service to per-
form for the gods whom he loved and who willed such
chasing.

No wild passion of love, such as he had had for
Steward, did he bear Villa and Harley, but he did de-
velop for them a great, sober love. He did not go out
of his way to express it with overtures of wrigglings
and squirmings and whimpering yelpings. Jerry
could be depended upon for that. But he was always
seriously glad to be with Villa and Harley and to re-
ceive recognition from them next after Jerry. Some
of his deepest moments of content, before the fire-
place, were to sit beside Villa or Harley and lean his
head against a knee and have a hand, on occasion, drop
down on his head or gently twist his crinkled ear.

Jerry was even guilty of playing with children who
happened at times to be under the Kennan aegis.
Michael endured children for as long as they left him
alone. If they waxed familiar, he would warn them
with a bristling of his neck hair and a throaty rumbling
and get up and stalk away.

“I can’t understand it,” Villa would say. ‘‘ He was
the fullest of play, and spirits, and all foolishness. He
was much sillier and much more excitable than Jerry
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 325

and certainly noisier. He must have some terrible
story to tell, if only he could, of all that happened be-
tween Tulagi and the time we found him on the Or-
pheum stage.”

“‘ And that may be the least little hint of it,” Harley
would reply, pointing to Michael’s shoulder where the
leopard had scarred it on the day Jack, the Airedale,
and Sara, the little green monkey, had died.

‘“* He used to bark, I know he used to bark,” Villa
would continue. ‘‘ Why doesn’t he bark now?”

And Harley would point to the scarred shoulder and
say: ‘‘ That may account for it, and most possibly a
hundred other things like it of which we cannot see the
marks.”

But the time was to come when they were to hear him
bark again—not once, but twice. And both times
were to be but an earnest of another and graver time
when, without barking at all, he would express in ac-
tion the measure of his love and worship of them who
had taken him from the crate and the footlights and
given him the freedom of the Valley of the Moon.

And in the meantime, running endlessly with Jerry
over the ranch, he learned all the ways of it and all
the life of it from the chickenyards and the duck-ponds
to the highest pitch of Sonoma Mountain. He learned
where the wild deer, in their season, were to be found;
when they raided the prune-orchard, the vineyards, and
the apple trees; when they sought the deepest canyons
and most secret coverts; and when they stamped out
in open glades and on bare hillsides and clashed and
clattered their antlers together in combat. Under
Jerry’s leadership, always running second and after on
the narrow trails as a subdued dog should, he learned
the ways and habits of the foxes, the coons, the wea-
326 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

sels, and the ring-tail cats that seemed compounded of
cat and coon and weasel. He came to know the
ground-nesting birds and the difference between the cus-
toms of the valley quail, the mountain quail, and the
pheasants. The traits and lairs of the domestic cats
gone wild he also learned, as did he learn the wild
loves of mountain farm-dogs with the free-roving
coyotes.

He knew of the presence of the mountain lion, adrift
down from Mendocino County, ere the first shorthorn
calf was slain, and came home from the encounter, torn
and bleeding, to attest what he had discovered and to
be the cause of Harley Kennan riding trail next day
with a rifle across his pommel. Likewise Michael
came to know what Harley Kennan never did know
and always denied as existing on his ranch — the one
rocky outcrop, in the dense heart of the mountain for-
est, where a score of rattlesnakes denned through the
winters and warmed themselves in the sun.
CHAPTER XXXVI

INTER came on in its delectable way in the

Valley of the Moon. The last Mariposa lily
vanished from the burnt grasses as the California In-
dian Summer dreamed itself out in purple mists on the
windless air. Soft rain-showers first broke the spell.
Snow fell on the summit of Sonoma Mountain. At
the ranch house the morning air was crisp and brittle,
yet midday made the shade welcome, and in the open,
under the winter sun, roses bloomed and oranges, grape-
fruit and lemons turned to golden yellow ripeness.
Yet, a thousand feet beneath, on the floor of the valley,
the mornings were white with frost.

And Michael barked twice. The first time was when
Harley Kennan, astride a hot-blooded sorrel colt, tried
to make it leap a narrow stream. Villa reined in her
steed at the crest beyond, and, looking back into the
little valley, waited for the colt to receive its lesson.
Michael waited, too, but closer at hand. At first he
lay down, panting from his run, by the stream-edge.
But he did not know horses very well, and soon his anx-
iety for the welfare of Harley Kennan brought him to
his feet.

Harley was gentle and persuasive and all patience as
he strove to make the colt take the leap. The urge of
voice and rein was of the mildest; but the animal balked
the take-off each time, and the hot thoroughbredness in
its veins made it sweat and lather. The velvet of
young grass was torn up by its hoofs, and its terror of
the stream was such, that, when fetched to the edge at

327
328 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

a canter, it stiffened and crouched to an abrupt stop,
then reared on its hind-legs. Which was too much for
Michael.

He sprang at the horse’s head as it came down with
fore-feet to earth, and as he sprang he barked. In his
bark was censure and menace, and, as the horse reared
again, he leaped into the air after it, his teeth clipping
together as he just barely missed its nose.

Villa rode back down the slope to the opposite bank
of the stream.

“Mercy!” she cried. “Listen to him! He’s ac-
tually barking.”

“He thinks the colt is trying to do some damage to
me,” Harley said. ‘‘That’s his provocation. He
hasn’t forgotten how to bark. He’s reading the colt
a lecture.”

“If he gets him by the nose it will be more than a
lecture,” Villa warned. ‘‘ Be careful, Harley, or he
will.”

““Now, Michael, lie down and be good,” Harley
commanded. “It’s all right, I tell you. It’s all right.
Lie down.”

Michael sank down obediently, but protestingly; and
he had eyes only for the horse’s antics, while all his
muscles were gathered tensely to spring in case the
horse threatened injury to Harley again.

“‘T can’t give in to him now, or he never will jump
anything,” Harley said to his wife, as he whirled about
to gallop back to a distance. ‘‘ Either I lift him over
or I take a cropper.”

He came back at full speed, and the colt, despite him-
self, unable to stop, lifted into the leap that would
avoid the stream he feared, so that he cleared it with
a good two yards to spare on the other side.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 329

The next time Michael barked was when Harley, on
the same hot-blooded mount, strove to close a poorly
hung gate on the steep pitch of a mountain wood-road.
Michael endured the danger to his man-god as long
as he could, then flew at the colt’s head in a frenzy of
barking.

“ Anyway, his barking helped,” Harley conceded, as
he managed to close the gate. ‘‘ Michael must cer-
tainly have told the colt that he’d give him what-for
if he didn’t behave.”

“At any rate he’s not tongue-tied,” Villa laughed,
“even if he isn’t very loquacious.”

And Michael’s loquacity never went farther. Only
on these two occasions, when his master-god seemed to
be in peril, was he known to bark. He never barked
at the moon, nor at hillside echoes, nor at any prowling
thing. A particular echo, to be heard directly from
the ranch-house, was an unfailing source of exercise for
Jerry’s lungs. At such times that Jerry barked, Mi-
chael, with a bored expression, would lie down and
wait until the duet was over. Nor did he bark when
he attacked strange dogs that strayed upon the ranch.

*“* He fights like a veteran,” Harley remarked, after
witnessing one such encounter. ‘* He’s cold-blooded.
There’s no excitement in him.”

** He’s old before his time,’ Villa said. ‘* There is
no heart of play left in him, and no desire for speech.
Just the same J know he loves me, and you —”

“ Without having to be voluble about it,” her hus-
band completed for her.

“You can see it shining in those quiet eyes of his,”
she supplemented.

“‘ Reminds me of one of the survivors of Lieutenant
Greeley’s Expedition I used to know,” he agreed.
330 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

“‘ He was an enlisted soldier and one of the handful of
survivors. He had been through so much that he was
just as subdued as Michael and just as taciturn. He
bored most people, who could not understand him. Of
course, the truth was the other way around. They
bored him. They knew so little of life that he knew
the last word of. And one could scarcely get any
word out of him. It was not that he had forgotten
how to speak, but that he could not see any reason for
speaking when nobody could understand. He was
really crusty from too-bitter wise experience. But all
you had to do was look at him in his tremendous re-
pose and know that he had been through the thousand
hells including all the frozen ones. His eyes had the
same quietness of Michael’s. And they had the same
wisdom. I’d give almost anything to know how he
got his shoulder scarred. It must have been a tiger
or a lion.”

The man, like the mountain lion whom Michael had
encountered up the mountain, had strayed down from
the wilds of Mendocino County, following the rugged-
est mountain stretches, and, at night, crossing the
farmed valley spaces where the presence of man was
a danger to him. Like the mountain lion, the man was
an enemy to man, and all men were his enemies, seek-
ing his life which he had forfeited in ways more ter-
rible than the lion which had merely killed calves for
food.

Like the mountain lion, the man was a killer. But,
unlike the lion, his vague description and the narrative
of his deeds was in all the newspapers, and mankind
was a vast deal more interested in him than in the lion.
The lion had slain calves in upland pastures. But the
 

MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 331

man, for purposes of robbery, had slain an entire
family — the postmaster, his wife, and their three chil-
dren, in the upstairs over the post office in the mountain
village of Chisholm.

For two weeks the man had eluded and exceeded pur-
suit. His last crossing had been from the mountains
of the Russian River, across wide-farmed Santa Rosa
Valley, to Sonoma Mountain. For two days he had
laired and rested, sleeping much, in the wildest and
most inaccessible precincts of the Kennan Ranch.
With him he had carried coffee stolen from the last
house he had raided. One of Harley Kennan’s an-
gora goats had furnished him with meat. Four times
he had slept the clock around from exhaustion, rousing
on occasion, like any animal, to eat voraciously of the
goat-meat, to drink large quantities of the coffee hot or
cold, and to sink down into heavy but nightmare-
ridden sleep.

And in the meantime civilisation, with its efficient or-
ganisation and intricate inventions, including electricity,
had closed in on him. Electricity had surrounded him.
The spoken word had located him in the wild canyons
of Sonoma Mountain and fringed the mountain with
posses of peace-officers and detachments of armed farm-
ers. More terrible to them than any mountain lion
was a man-killing man astray in their landscape. The
telephone on the Kennan Ranch, and the telephones on
all other ranches abutting on Sonoma Mountain, had
rung often and transmitted purposeful conversations
and arrangements.

So it happened, when the posses had begun to pen-
etrate the mountain, and when the man was compelled
to make a daylight dash down into the Valley of the
Moon to cross over to the mountain fastnesses that lay
332 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

between it and Napa Valley, that Harley Kennan rode
out on the hot-blooded colt he was training. He was
not in pursuit of the man who had slain the postmaster
of Chisholm and his family. The mountain was alive
with man-hunters, as he well knew, for a score had
bedded and eaten at the ranch house the night before.
So the meeting of Harley Kennan with the man was
unplanned and eventful.

It was not the first meeting with men the man had
had that day. During the preceding night he had
noted the campfires of several posses. At dawn, at-
tempting to break forth down the southwestern slopes
of the mountain toward Petaluma, he had encountered
not less than five separate detachments of dairy-ranch-
ers all armed with Winchesters and shotguns. Break-
ing back to cover, the chase hot on his heels, he had
run full tilt into a party of village youths from Glen
Ellen and Caliente. Their squirrel and deer rifles had
missed him, but his back had been peppered with bird-
shot in a score of places, the leaden pellets penetrating
maddeningly in a score of places just under the skin.

In the rush of his retreat down the canyon slope, he
had plunged into a bunch of shorthorn steers, who, far
more startled than he, had rolled him on the forest
floor, trampled over him in theif panic, and smashed
his rifle under their hoofs. Weaponless, desperate,
stinging and aching from his superficial wounds and
bruises, he had circled the forest slopes along deer-
paths, crossed two canyons, and begun to descend the
horse-trail he found in the third canyon.

It was on this trail, going down, that he met the re-
porter coming up. The reporter was — well, just a
reporter, from the city, knowing only city ways, who
had never before engaged in a man-hunt. The livery
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 333

horse he had rented down in the valley.was a broken-
kneed, jaded and spiritless creature, that stood calmly
while its rider was dragged from its back by the wild-
looking and violently impetuous man who sprang out
around a sharp turn of the trail. The reporter struck
at his assailant once with his riding whip. Then he
received a beating, such as he had often written up
about sailor-rows and saloon-frequenters in his cub-re-
porter days, but which for the first time it was his lot
:to experience.

To the man’s disgust he found the reporter unarmed
save for a pencil and a wad of copy paper. Out of his
disappointment in not securing a weapon, he beat the
reporter up some more, left him wailing among the
ferns, and, astride the reporter’s horse, urging it on
with the reporter’s whip, continued down the trail.

Jerry, ever keenest on the hunting, had ranged far-
ther afield than Michael as the pair of them accom-
panied Harley Kennan on his early morning ride.
Even so, Michael, at the heels of his master’s horse, did
not see nor understand the beginning of the catastrophe.
For that matter, neither did Harley. Where a steep,
eight-foot bank came down to the edge of the road
along which he was riding, Harley and the hot-blood
colt were startled by an eruption through the screen of
manzanita bushes above. Looking up, he saw a re-
luctant horse and a forceful rider plunging in mid-air
down upon him. In that flashing glimpse, even as he
reined and spurred to make his own horse leap side-
wise out from under, Harley Kennan observed the
scratched skin and torn clothing, the wild-burning eyes,
and the haggardness under the scraggly growth of
beard, of the man-hunted man.

. The livery horse was justifiably reluctant to make
334 MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY

that leap out and down the bank. Too painfully aware
of the penalty its broken knees and rheumatic joints
must pay, it dug its hoofs into the steep slope of moss
and only sprang out and clear in the air in order to
avoid a fall. Even so, its shoulder impacted against
the shoulder of the whirling colt below it, over-throw-
ing the latter. Harley Kennan’s leg, caught under
against the earth, snapped, and the colt, twisted and
twisting as it struck the ground, snapped its backbone.

To his utter disgust, the man, pursued by an armed
countryside, found Harley Kennan, his latest victim,
like the reporter, to be weaponless. Dismounted, he
snarled in his rage and disappointment and deliberately
kicked the helpless man in the side. He had drawn
back his foot for the second kick, when Michael took
a hand —or a leg, rather, sinking his teeth into the
calf of the back-drawn leg about to administer the kick.

With a curse the man jerked his leg clear, Michael’s
teeth ribboning flesh and trousers.

‘““Good boy, Michael!” Harley applauded from
where he lay helplessly pinioned under his horse.
‘““Hey! Michael!” he continued, lapsing back into
beche-de-mer. ‘‘ Chase’m that white fella marster to
hell outa here along bush! ”

“Tl kick your head off for that,” the man gritted
at Harley through his teeth.

Savage as were his acts and utterance, the man was
nearly ready tocry. The long pursuit, his hand against
all mankind and all mankind against him, had begun to
break his stamina. He was surrounded by enemies.
Even youths had risen up and peppered his back with
birdshot, and beef cattle had trod him underfoot and
smashed his rifle. Everything conspired against him.
And now it was a dog that had slashed down his leg.
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 335

He was on the death-road. Never before had this
impressed him with such clear certainty. Everything
was against him. His desire to cry was hysterical, and
hysteria, in a desperate man, is prone to express itself
in terrible savage ways. Without rhyme or reason he
was prepared to carry out his threat to kick Harley
Kennan to death. Not that Kennan had done any-
thing to him. On the contrary, it was he who had at-
tacked Kennan, hurling him down on the road and
breaking his leg under his horse. But Harley Kennan
was a man, and all mankind was his enemy; and, in
killing Kennan, in some vague way it appeared to him
that he was avenging himself, at least in part, on man-
kind in general. Going down himself in death, he
would drag what he could with him into the red ruin.

But ere he could kick the man on the ground, Mi-
chael was back upon him. His other calf and trous-
ers’ leg were ribboned as he tore clear. Then, catch-
ing Michael in mid-leap with a kick that reached him
under the chest, he sent him flying through the air off
the road and down the slope. As mischance would
have it, Michael did not reach the ground. Crashing
through a scrub manzanita bush, his body was caught
and pinched in an acute fork a yard above the ground.

“Now,” the man announced grimly to Harley, “ I’m
going to do what I said. I’m just going to kick your
head clean off.”

“ And I haven’t done a thing to you,” Harley par-
leyed. ‘I don’t so much mind being murdered, but
I'd like to know what I’m being murdered for.”

‘Chasing me for my life,” the man snarled, as he
advanced. ‘I know your kind. You've all got it in
for me, and I ain’t got a chance except to give you
yours. I'll take a whole lot of it out on you.”
336 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

Kennan was thoroughly aware of the gravity of his
peril. Helpless himself, a man-killing lunatic was
about to kill him and to kill him most horribly. Mi-
chael, a prisoner in the bush, hanging head-downward
in the manzanita from his loins squeezed in the fork,
and struggling vainly, could not come to his defence.

The man’s first kick, aimed at Harley’s face, he
blocked with his fore-arm; and, before the man could
make a second kick, Jerry erupted on the scene. Nor
did he need encouragement or direction from his love-
master. He flashed at the man, sinking his teeth
harmlessly into the slack of the man’s trousers at the
waist-band above the hip, but by his weight dragging
him half down to the ground.

And upon Jerry the man turned with an increase of
madness. In truth all the world was against him.
The very landscape rained dogs upon him. But from
above, from the slopes of Sonoma Mountain, the cries
and calls of the trailing posses caught his ear, and de-
flected his intention. They were the pursuing death,
and it was from them he must escape. With another
kick at Jerry, hurling him clear, he leaped astride the
reporter’s horse which had continued to stand, without
movement or excitement, in utter apathy, where he had
dismounted from it.

The horse went into a reluctant and stiff-legged gal-
lop, while Jerry followed, snarling and growling his
wrath at so high a pitch that almost he squalled.

“It’s all right, Michael,’ Harley soothed. ‘ Take
it easy. Don’t hurt yourself. The trouble’s over.
Anybody’ll happen along any time now and get us out
of this fix.”

But the smaller branch of the two composing the
fork broke, and Michael fell to the ground, landing in
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 337

momentary confusion on his head and shoulders. The
next moment he was on his feet and tearing down the
road in the direction of Jerry’s noisy pursuit. Jerry’s
noise broke in a sharp cry of pain that added wings to
Michael’s feet. Michael passed him rolling helplessly
on the road. What had happened was that the livery
horse, in its stiff-jointed, broken-kneed gallop, had
stumbled, nearly fallen, and, in its sprawling recovery,
had accidentally stepped on Jerry, bruising and break-
ing his fore-leg.

And the man, looking back and seeing Michael close
upon him, decided that it was still-another dog attack-
ing him. But he had no fear of dogs. It was men,
with their rifles and shotguns, that might bring him to
ultimate grief. Nevertheless, the pain of his bleeding
legs, lacerated by Jerry and Michael, maintained his
rage against dogs. ,

“More dogs,” was his bitter thought, as he leaned
out and brought his whip down across Michael’s face.

To his surprise, the dog did not wince under the
blow. Nor for that matter did he yelp or cry out
from the pain. Nor did he bark or growl or snarl.
He closed in as though he had not received the blow,
and as though the whip was not brandished above him.
As Michael leaped for his right leg he swung the whip
down, striking him squarely on the muzzle midway be-
tween nose and eyes. Deflected by the blow, Michael
dropped back to earth and ran on with his longest leaps
to catch up and make his next spring.

But the man had noticed another thing. At such.
close range, bringing his whip down, he could not help
noting that Michael had kept his eyes open under the
blow. Neither had he winced nor blinked as the whip
slashed down on him. The thing was uncanny. It
338 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

was something new in the way of dogs. Michael
sprang again, the man timed him again with the whip,
and he saw the uncanny thing repeated. By neither
wince nor blink had the dog acknowledged the blow.

And then an entirely new kind of fear came upon the
man. Was this the end for him, after all he had gone
through? Was this deadly silent, rough-coated terrier
the thing destined to destroy him where men had
failed? He did not even know that the dog was real.
Might it not be some terrible avenger, out of the mys-
tery beyond life, placed to beset him and finish him
finally on this road that he was convinced was surely
the death-road? The dog was not real. It could not
be real. The dog did not live that could take a full-
arm whip-slash without wince or flinch.

Twice again, as the dog sprang, he deflected it with
accurately delivered blows. And the dog came on
with the same surety and silence. The man surren-
dered to his terror, clapping heels to his horse’s old
ribs, beating it over the head and under the belly with
the whip until it galloped as it had not galloped in
years. Even on that apathetic steed the terror de-
scended. It was not terror of the dog, which it knew
to be only a dog, but terror of the rider. In the past
its knees had been broken and its joints stiffened for-
ever, by drunken-mad riders who had hired him from
the stables. And here was another such drunken-mad
rider — for the horse sensed the man’s terror — who
ached his ribs with the weight of his heels and beat him
cruelly over face and nose and ears.

The best speed of the horse was not very great, not
great enough to out-distance Michael, although it was
fast enough to give the latter only infrequent oppor-
tunities to spring for the man’s leg. But each spring
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 339

was met by the unvarying whip-blow that by its very
weight deflected him in the air. Though his teeth each
time clipped together perilously close to the man’s leg,
each time he fell back to earth where he had to gather
himself together and run at his own top speed in order
to overtake the terror-stricken man on the crazy-gal-
loping horse.

Enrico Piccolomini saw the chase and was himself
in at the finish; and the affair, his one great adventure
in the world, gave him wealth as well as material for
conversation to the end of his days. Enrico Piccolo-
mini was a wood-chopper on the Kennan Ranch. Ona
rounded knoll, overlooking the road, he had first heard
the galloping hoofs of the horse and the crack of the
whip-blows on its body. Next, he had seen the run-
ning battle of the man, the horse, and the dog. When
directly beneath him, not twenty feet distant, he saw
the dog leap, in its queer silent way, straight up and in
to the down-smash of the whip, and sink its teeth in
the rider’s leg. He saw the dog, with its weight, as
it fell back to earth, drag the man half out of the
saddle. He saw the man, in an effort to recover his
balance, put his own weight on the bridle-reins. And
he saw the horse, half-rearing, half tottering and
stumbling, overthrow the last shred of the man’s bal-
ance so that he followed the dog to the ground.

“ And then they are like two dogs, like two beasts,”
Piccolomini was wont to tell in after years over a glass
of wine in his little hotel in Glen Ellen. “The dog
lets go the man’s leg and jumps for the man’s throat.
And the man, rolling over, is at the dog’s throat.
Both his hands — so — he fastens about the throat of
the dog. And the dog makes no sound. He never
makes sound, before or after. After the two hands of
340 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

the man stop his breath he can not make sound. But
he is not that kind of a dog. He will not make sound
anyway. And the horse stands and looks on, and the
horse coughs. It is very strange all that I see.

‘“‘ And the man is mad. Only a madman will do
what I see him do. I see the man show his teeth like
any dog, and bite the dog on the paw, on the nose, on
the body. And when he bites the dog on the nose, the
dog bites him on the cheek. And the man and the dog
fight like hell, and the dog gets his hind legs up like a
cat. And like a cat he tears the man’s shirts away
from his chest, and tears the skin of the chest with his
claws till it is all red with bleeding. And the man
yow-yowls, and makes noises like a wild mountain
lion. And always he chokes the dog. It is a hell of
a fight.

‘“ And the dog is Mister Kennan’s dog, a fine man,
and I have worked for him two years. So I will not
stand there and see Mister Kennan’s dog all killed to
pieces by the man who fights like a mountain lion. I
run down the hill, but I am excited and forget my axe.
I run down the hill, maybe from this door to that door,
twenty feet or maybe thirty feet. And it is nearly all
finished for the dog. His tongue is a long ways out,
and his eyes like covered with cobwebs; but still he
scratches the man’s chest with his hind-feet and the man
yow-yowls like a lion of the mountains.

“What canI do? I have forgotten the axe. The
man will kill the dog. I look for a big rock. There
are no rocks. I look fora club. I cannot find a club.
And the man is killing the dog. I tell you what I do.
I am no fool. I kick the man. My shoes are very
heavy — not like the shoes I wear now. They are the
shoes of the woodchopper, very thick on the sole with
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 341

hard leather, with many iron nails. I kick the man on
the side of the face, on the neck, right under the ear.
kick once. It isa good kick. Itis enough. 1 know
the place — right under the ear.

“And the man lets go of the dog. He shuts his
eyes, and opens his mouth, and lies very still. And the
dog begins once more to breathe. And with the
breath comes the life, and right away he wants to kill
the man. But I say ‘No,’ though I am very much
afraid of the dog. And the man begins to become
alive. He opens his eyes and he looks at me like a
mountain lion. And his mouth makes a noise like a
mountain lion. And I am afraid of him like I am
afraid of the dog. What am I to do? I have for-
gotten the axe. I tell you what I do. I kick the man
once again under the ear. Then I take my belt, and
my bandana handkerchief, and I tie him. I tie his
hands. I tie his legs, too. And all the time I am
saying ‘ No,’ to the dog, and that he must leave the man
alone. And the dog looks. He knows I am his friend
and am tying the man. And he does not’ bite me,
though I am very much afraid. The dog is a terrible
dog. Do TI not know? Have I not seen him take a
strong man out of the saddle? —a man that is like a
mountain lion?

“And then the men come. They all have guns —
rifles, shotguns, revolvers, pistols. And I think, first,
that justice is very quick in the United States. Only
just now have I kicked a man in the head, and, one-
two-three, just like that, men come with guns to take me
to jail for kicking a man in the head. At first I do not
understand. The many men are angry with me.
They call me names, and say bad things; but they do
not arrest me. Ah! I begin to understand! I hear
342 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

them talk about three thousand dollars. I have robbed
them of three thousand dollars. Itis not true. I say
so. I say never have I robbed a man of one cent.
Then they laugh. And I feel better and I understand
better. The three thousand dollars is the reward of
the government for this man I have tied up with my
belt and my bandana. And the three thousand dollars
is mine because I kicked the man in the head and tied
his hands and his feet.

‘“So I do not work for Mister Kennan any more.
Iam arich man. Three thousand dollars, all mine,
from the government, and Mister Kennan sees that it
is paid to me by the government and not robbed from
me by the men with the guns. Just because I kicked
the man in the head who was like a mountain lion! It
is fortune. Itis America. And I am glad that I have
left Italy and come to chop wood on Mister Kennan’s
ranch. And I start this hotel in Glen Ellen with the
three thousand dollars. I know there is large money
in the hotel business. When I was a little boy, did not
my father have a hotel in Napoli? I have now two
daughters in high school. Also I own an automobile.”

“Mercy me, the whole ranch is a hospital!.”’ cried
Villa Kennan, two days later, as she came out on the
broad sleeping porch and regarded Harley and Jerry
stretched out, the one with his leg in splints, the other
with his leg in a plaster cast. ‘‘ Look at Michael,”
she continued. ‘‘ You’re not the only ones with broken
bones. I’ve only just discovered that if his nose isn’t
broken, it ought to be, from the blow he must have
received on it. I’ve had hot compresses on it for the
last hour. Look at it!”

Michael, who had followed in at her invitation, be-
MICHAEL — BROTHER OF JERRY 343

trayed a ridiculously swollen nose as he sniffed noses

with Jerry, wagged his bobtail to Harley in greeting,

a greeted in turn with a blissful hand laid on his
ead.

‘* Must have got it in the fight,” Harley said. ‘“ The
fellow struck him with the whip many times, so Piccolo-
mini says, and, naturally, it would be right across the
nose when he jumped for him.”

‘And Piccolomini says he never cried out when he
was struck, but went on running and jumping,” Villa
took up enthusiastically. ‘“ Think of it! A dog no
bigger than Michael dragging out of the saddle a man-
killing outlaw whom scores of officers could not catch! ”

“So far as we are concerned, he did better than
that,” Harley commented quietly. ‘If it hadn’t been
for Michael, and for Jerry, too — if it hadn’t been for
the pair of them, I do verily believe that that lunatic
would have kicked my head off as he promised.”

“* The blessed pair of them!” Villa cried, with shin-
ing eyes, as her hand flashed out to her husband’s in a
quick pressure of heart-thankfulness. ‘‘ The last word
has not been said upon the wonder of dogs,” she added,
as, with a quick winking of her eyelashes to overcome
the impending moistness, she controlled her emotion.

“ The last word of the wonder of dogs will never be
said,” Harley spoke, returning the pressure of her hand
and releasing it in order to help her.

“And just for that we’re going to say something
right now,” she smiled. ‘“ Jerry, and Michael, and I.
We've been practising it in secret for a surprise for you.
You just lie there and listen. It’s the Doxology.
Don’t laugh. No pun intended.”

She bent forward from the stool on which she sat,
and drew Michael to her so that he sat between her
344 MICHAEL— BROTHER OF JERRY

knees, her two hands holding his head and jowls, his
nose half-buried in her hair.

“Now, Jerry!” she called sharply, as a singing
teacher might call, so that Jerry turned his head in
attention, looked at her, smiled understanding with his
eyes, and waited.

It was Villa who started and pitched the Doxology,
but quickly the two dogs joined with their own soft,
mellow howling, if howling it may be called when it was
so soft and mellow and true. And all that had vanished
into the Nothingness was in the minds of the two dogs
as they sang, and they sang back through the Nothing-
ness to the land of Otherwhere, and ran once again with
the Lost Pack, and yet were not entirely unaware of
the present and of the indubitable two-legged god who
was called Villa and who sang with them and loved
them.

“No reason we shouldn’t make a quartette of it,”
remarked Harley Kennan, as with his own voice he
joined in.

THE END

PRINTED IN THH UNITED STATES OF AMERIOA
 

 

T

HE following pages contain advertisements of
Macmillan books by the same author.

 

 
THE SONOMA EDITION OF JACK LONDON’S
WORKS

Decorated covers. Each volume with frontispiece.
Izmo, Cloth, $1.50; leather, $2.00

There has long been a demand for a uniform edition
of the more popular of Jack London’s works. This
demand The Sonoma Edition is intended to fill. At-
tractive in makeup, comprising his best novels, tales of
adventure and short stories, the definitive edition in
every sense of the word, every London admirer will
wish to possess it, while those who are not as familiar
with his writings as they might be have a treat in store
in this carefully chosen selection.

The titles included are:

Adventure Martin Eden

Before Adam Moon Face

Burning Daylight The Mutiny of the Elsi-

The Call of the Wild nor

Children of the Frost Sea Wolf

Faith of Men South Sea Tales

The Game The Strength of the

The House of Pride Strong

The Human Drift The Star Rover

The Iron Heel Tales of the Fish Patrol

The Little Lady of the The Turtles of Tasman
Big House The Valley of the Moon

Lost Face When God Laughs

Love of Life White Fang

 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Jerry of the Islands

By JACK LONDON
Iamo, $1.50

“Tt is one of the author’s best efforts.”— The Boston Globe.

“Jerry is one of the dearest of dog-creatures, high-hearted,
of heaven-sent courage, devoted and loving and wise, and
Mr. London has written his story with pentrating and loving
sympathy and understanding. It is a_good note for a man to
lay down his pen upon.”— New York Times,

“It would seem as if the author had realised that he must
leave behind a story in which all his versatility of imagination
and talent are combined. It is a tale—first of all —of the
South Seas; second, it is a tale of adventure, of thrilling, swift-
moving events; third, it is rich with the author’s knowledge
of human nature; and last, it is the story of a dog—the kind
of dog that Jack London, or fecha Kipling, alone could
create, a dog like the hero of ‘The Call of the Wild,’ which
responds to an instinct that has been inherited from generations
et pure blooded ancestors.”— The Bookseller, Newsdealer and

tationer.

“Jerry himself is wonderful, but not too wonderful for
credence. He is alert, affectionate, lion-hearted, a four-footed
prodigy. He lingers pleasantly in memory.”— Boston Herald.

“The dash and vigour with which the story is told, the truth-
fulness of the descriptions will make even those who are not
hardened by cave man literature put up with the brutality of
the facts.’— New York Sun.

The Human Dnift

A BOOK OF TALES AND SKETCHES PUB-
LISHED SINCE JACK LONDON’S
DEATH

Izmo, $1.25
“Very much worth while.”’— Evening Post, N. Y.

It is from the standpoint of the adventurer that Mr. London
writes in this book. ere is his comment on a great many
things which he has seen in his world travels, the ‘“ human”
element being emphasized throughout. No book more ade-
quately sums up his philosophy of life or presents his message
with greater clearmess.

 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
JACK LONDON’S WRITINGS
PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS Cloth, illustrated, $1.50

“This life has been pictured many ‘times before —com-
lacently and soothingly by Professor Walter A. Wyckoff, luridly
y Mr. Stead, Scientifically by Mr. Charles Booth. But Mr.

London alone has made it ‘real and present to us.”— The Inde-
pendent.
THE ROAD Cloth, t2mo, illustrated, $2.00

A literal record of life among tramps, of travel from end to
end of the country.

JACK LONDON’S SHORT STORIES

THE GAME Each, cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
A Transcript from Real Life.
_ “It is told with such a glow of imaginative illusion, with such
intense dramatic vigor, with such effective audacity of phrase,
that 1t almost seems as if the author’s appeal was to the bodily
eye as much as to the inner mentality, and that the events are
actually happening before the reader.”—-New York Herald,
CHILDREN OF THE FROST Til, 12mo, $1.50
_‘*Told with something of that same vigorous and honest man-
linge ae aneterence aan which Mr. fining makes un-
egging yet direct and unfailing appeal to the sympathy of his
reader.”— Richmond Despatch, aan
THE FAITH OF MEN amo, $1.50
““Mr. London’s art as a story-teller nowhere manifests more
strongly than in the swift, dramatic close of his stories. There
is no hesitancy or uncertainty of touch. From the start the
story moves straight to the inevitable conclusion,”— Courier-
Journal,
MOON FACE Ill., tamo, $1.50
“Each of the stories is unique in its individual way, weird
and uncanny, and told in Mr. London's vigorous, compelling
style.’’— Interior.
TALES OF THE FISH PATROL I2mo, $1.50
“That they are vividly told, hardly need be said, for Jack
London is a realist as well as a writer of thrilling romances,”
— Cleveland Plain Dealer.
LOST FACE dl, I2mo, $1.50
The stories are strong and robust and the characterizations are
not fanciful creations, but the actual happenings of an existence
which the author has lived and now vividly describes.
SOUTH SEA TALES Decorated cloth, t2mo, illustrated, $1.35
Jack London’s stories of the South Seas have a sense of reality
about them which prove that he has been on the ground and
has himself taken part in the combats, physical and mental, which

he describes.
PLAYS BY JACK LONDON
THEFT $1.25 | SCORN OF WOMEN $1.35

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue . New York
JACK LONDON’S WRITINGS

‘WHEN GOD LAUGHS Decorated cloth, r2mo, illustrated, $1.50

It is doubtful if anything will ever be written that will do as much toward
making known and felt the awful process of destruction resulting from child-
labor as will this one comparatively brief sketch.

THE CRUISE OF THE SNARE
Decorated cloth, illustrated, vo, $2.50

An exhilarating story of one of the most adventurous voyages ever
planned—the passage of the Sxaré around the world,

THE CALL OF THE WILD
Decorated cloth, illustrated in colors, $1.50
“ A big story in sober English, and with thorough art in the construction;
a wonderfully perfect bit of work; a book that will be heard of long. The
dog’s adventures are as exciting as any man’s exploits could be, and Mr.
London’s workmanship is wholly satisfying.” — Te New York Sun.

THE SEA-WOLF Decorated cloth, illustrated in colors, $1.50

«Jack London’s ‘ The Sea-Wolf’ is marvelously truthful. ... Read-
ing it through at a sitting, we have found it poupanily interesting; ...a
superb piece of craftsmanship.” — The New York Tribune.

WHITE FANG Decorated cloth, tllustrated in colors, $1.50

‘A thrilling story of adventure . . . stirring indeed . . . and it touches
a chord of tenderness that is all too rare in Mr. London’s work.” — Record-
Herald, Chicago.

BEFORE ADAM Decorated cloth, illustrated in colors, $1.50

“The marvel of it is not in the story itself, but in the audacity of the
man who undertook such a task as the writing of it. ... From an artistic
standpoint the book is an undoubted success. And it is no less a success
from the standpoint of the reader who seeks to be entertained.” — The Plain
Dealer, Cleveland.

THE IRON HEEL Decorated cloth, $1.50

“ Power is certainly the keynote of this book. Every word tingles with
it. It is a great book, one that deserves to be read and pondered, ,.. It
contains a mighty lesson and a most impressive warning.” — /ndzanafolis
News,

REVOLUTION Cloth, 12mo, $1.50; Standard Library Edition, $0.50
“Here is a field wherein London is entirely at home, and the narrative
radiates with picturesque description and vivid characterization.” — Brook-
lyn Daily Eagle,
THE WAR OF THE CLASSES
Cloth, r2mo. $1.50; Standard Library Edition, $0.50

“Mr. London’s book is thoroughly interesting, and Mr. London’s point
of view is, as may be surmised, very different from that of the closet the-
orist.” — Springfield Republican.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
JACK LONDON’S WRITINGS

THE SCARLET PLAGUE Decorated cloth, illustrated 12mo, $1.00
_,, The relapse of civilization into barbarism is a theme which, as those fa-
miliar with Mr. London’s style will at once see, is admirably suited to his
a: as a Zeyeliee 4
r. London has never done a true ist i imag-
faeee woken Te Boles. uer or more consistent piece of imag.
THE MUTINY OF THE ELSINORE
Decorated cloth, illustrated, remo, $1.50
Mr, London is here writing of scenes and types of people with which he
is very familiar, the sea and ships and sailors. “In addition to the adventure
element, of which there is an abundance of a most satisfying kind, there is a
thread of romance involving a wealthy young man who takes the trip on the
Elsinore and the captain's daugher,
“Strong. characterizations and a splendid picture of indomitable sailing-
masters.” — String field Republican,
THE STRENGTH OF THE STRONG
Decorated cloth, frontispiece, $1.35
“The Strength of the Strong” is a collection of short stories containing
some ee London’s best work. Besides the title piece there are six tales:
South of the Slot, The Unparalleled Invasion, The Enemy of all the World,
The Dream of Debs, The Sea Farmer, and Samuel. They are representative
London stories — his most mature and interesting work — startlingly origi
as to theme and masterly as to treatment.
ADVENTURE
: Decorated cloth, illustrated, $1.50
A thrilling absorbing tale of rapid and exciting pee with lots, of excite-
ment, no little humor and considerable sentiment. It is written with a sure
and ready hand, and is altogether a remarkable piece of imaginative writing,
BURNING DAYLIGHT Decorated cloth, tliustrated, 12mo0, $1.50
Fiction Library Edition, $0.50
“ A gripping story of Millions and a Maid.” —New York Herald.

THE VALLEY OF THE MOON
Decorated cloth, frontispiece in colors, $1.50

‘‘ The most wholesome, the most interesting, the most acceptable book
that Mr. London has written.” — The Dzad.

“Read ‘ The Valley of the Moon.’ Once begin it and you can’t let it
alone until you have finished it... . ‘The Valley of the Moon’ is that kind
of a book.” — Pittsburgh Post.

MARTIN EDEN Cloth, 12mo, $1.50

“The story possesses substance, form, vigor, and vitality as does every-
thing that Mr. London writes. It is filled with the wine of life, with a life
that Mr. London has himself lived, and to which he never wearies of giving
every part of himself.” — Boston Evening Transcript.

THE HOUSE OF PRIDE Decorated cloth, illustrated, 12mo, $1. Et

Honolulu, Molokai, the Lepers’ Island, and others of the Hawaiian
group afford splendid setting for the tales.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York

 
JACK LONDON’S WRITINGS

THE TURTLES OF TASMAN
‘ $1.25

Jack London is at his best —that peculiar best which
is inimitable. . . . Nothing is more important to note,
however, than the soundness of the psychology of all these
stories. They are made out of the deep fibre of humanity.
By command over such material does Jack London hold
his place in our literature. By command over the knack
of clearly flowing, acid-biting English that often takes rich
color.” — Boston Transcript.

“Few collections of short stories from the pen of this
author show a greater versatility of thought and literary
style than Zhe Turtles of Tasman.” — Boston Daily Aa-
vertiser.

THE ACORN-PLANTER: A California

Forest Play
Cloth, 12mo, $.75

“A fine and a beautiful play —a call to the world of men
to awaken and know that constructive effort is the highest
duty man can realize.” — Review of Reviews.

“The play is well constructed, and the songs and recit-
atives are written with an intelligent appreciation of Indian
feeling, and follow with some closeness Indian technique.”
— New York Times.

“ An excursion into the poetic dramatic field, and is of

unusual originality and interest.” — Sax Francisco Bul-
letin.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
JACK LONDON’S WRITINGS

The Little Lady of the Big House

Price $1.50

In this story of a woman whose life is shaped by
a great love, Mr. London adds at least three charac-
ters to his already notable list of literary portraits —
Dick Forrest, master of broad acres, a man of intel-
lect, training, and wealth; Paula, his wife, young,
attractive, bound up in her husband and his affairs ;
and Evan Graham, traveled, of easy manners and in-
gratiating personality, a sort of Prince Charming.
The problem comes with Graham’s entrance into
the Forrest family circle and it is a problem that
must be solved.

The Star Rover

JACK LONDONW’S MOST DARING NOVEL
Cloth, frontispiece in colors, 12mo, $1.50

“But the artistic triumph of ‘The Star Rover ’ is
in its new use of the reincarnation idea. It is upon
this that the author has lavished his best work, car-
rying it through with a skill and plausibility that win
the reader. Jack London has done something origi-
nal in ‘ The Star Rover ’ and done it supremely well.”
— New York Times.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
The Romance of King Arthur and His
Knights of the Round Table

Abridged from Malory’s “ Morte d’Arthur”

By ALFRED W. POLLARD

With illustrations and decorations in color and in black and white by
ARTHUR RACKHAM.

Decorated cloth, 8vo

Probably never before has a large and elaborate Arthur Rackham
book been published in the first instance at the price at which this
one is offered. Its publication, then, will serve to introduce the
artist to a much wider circle of people, many of whom doubtless
have long heard of Rackham’s work — admired it, too, perhaps —
but have been unable themselves to own one of his more pretentious
volumes because of the price which they commanded. “The Ro-
mance of King Arthur” shows Rackham at his best. The numer-
ous plates in color, the black and white decorations, headings and
drawings, combined with the excellent paper and printing, make a
very beautiful volume which will be a valuable addition to any library.
It has been edited by Mr. Pollard of the British Museum Library,
whose scholarship and literary appreciation are reflected throughout.

‘THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York