“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 precisely8 the room-rent for the following week, the advance payment of which was already three days overdue9 and clamorously demanded by the hard-faced landlady10. 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 prodigious11 sum under the circumstances, 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-treasuring.
Most catastrophic of all, however, was the fact that Dag Daughtry was three quarts short of his daily allowance 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 schooner12-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, Hanson 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!” rumbled13 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?”
The steward14 fingered a dime15 in his pocket. If Killeny 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:
“I’ll bet you the price of two beers.”
The waiter was summoned, and, when he had received 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 expected 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? Two beers.”
Michael squirmed in his chair, placed an impulsive16 paw on the table, and impulsively17 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-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 remembered. 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.”
“I guess he ain’t goin’ to forget arithmetic no matter how much noise you shouts,” Daughtry argued aloud against his sinking spirits. “An’ I ain’t goin’ to butt18 in,” he added hopefully. “You just watch ’m for himself.”
The tall, schooner-glass of beer was placed before the captain, who laid a swift, containing hand around it. And Michael, strung as a taut19 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 between one and two that it came to him—how the profoundest 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 abrupt20 upspring, his throat half harsh with anger, he placed both forepaws 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.
“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 bellowed21 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 unappeasable 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. We will order four. Then each man will have his glass, but Killeny will talk to the waiter just the same.”
True enough, now thoroughly22 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 solloquized. “A funny world. Thirsty one moment. The next moment they’d fair drown you in beer.”
Several even wanted to buy Michael, offering ridiculous sums like fifteen and twenty dollars.
“I tell you what,” Captain Jorgensen muttered to Daughtry, whom he had drawn23 away into a corner. “You give me that bow-wow, and I’ll smash Hanson right now, and you got the job right away—come to work in the morning.”
Into another corner the proprietor24 of the Pile-drivers’ 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:
“It’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 hustle25 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 hand’s wriggled26 and squirmed with delight, flipping27 out his tongue and bobbing his tail in the air. Whatever it was, it was good, for it was Steward who spoke28.
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1
parlous
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| adj.危险的，不确定的，难对付的 | |
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2
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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3
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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4
nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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5
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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6
quack
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| n.庸医；江湖医生；冒充内行的人；骗子 | |
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7
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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8
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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9
overdue
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| adj.过期的，到期未付的；早该有的，迟到的 | |
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10
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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11
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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12
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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13
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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14
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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15
dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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16
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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17
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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18
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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19
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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20
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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21
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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22
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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23
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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24
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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25
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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26
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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27
flipping
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| 讨厌之极的 | |
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28
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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