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.
Head all right, good n flat, Dag Daughtry murmured, 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 Michaels 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 Daughtry, 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 Michaels 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 youre over twenty-five right now, Ill bet you on it, shillings to hapennies, and youll 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. Youre all dog n all correct conformation. Youve got the racing build and the fighting weight, an there aint no feathers on your legs.
No, sir, Mr. Dog, your weights to the good, and that ear can be ironed out by any respectable dog doctor. I bet theres a hundred men in Sydney right now that would fork over twenty quid for the right of calling you his.
And then, just that Michael should not make the mistake of thinking he was being much made over, Daughtry leaned back, relighted his pipe, and apparently forgot his existence. Instead of bidding for good will, he was bent on making Michael do the bidding.
And Michael did, bumping his flanks against Daughtrys knee; nudging his head against Daughtrys 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 addressed him:
What mans dog are you? Maybe youre a niggers dog, an that aint right. Maybe some niggers stole you, an thatd be awful. Think of the cruel fates that sometimes happens to dogs. Its a damn shame. No white mans stand for a nigger ownin the likes of you, an heres one white man that aint 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 Id up and knock seven bells and the Saint Paul chimes out of m. Sure thing I would. Just show m to me, thats all, an see what Id do to him. The idea of you takin orders from a nigger an fetchin n carryin for him! No, sir, dog, you aint goin to do it any more. Youre comin along of me, an I reckon I wont have to urge you.
Dag Daughtry stood up and turned carelessly along the beach. Michael looked after him, but did not follow. 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 himself 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
Dag Daughtry strolled 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 Commissioners clerk and the Makambos super-cargo 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 enterprises and was planning how to get on board the steamer unobserved. He edged around outside 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 bêche-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 bargained. 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 indubitably grown there and been part and parcel of him.
A blighted leper was Daughtrys thought as his quick eyes leapt from hands to feet 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 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 Methuselah 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.
Suppose m me no give? the steward impatiently temporized.
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.