Michael, Brother of Jerry

by Jack London

  CHAPTER XVII

  One night Dag Daughtry sat at a table in the saloon called thePile-drivers' Home. He was in a parlous predicament. Harder than everhad it been to secure odd jobs, and he had reached the end of hissavings. Earlier in the evening he had had a telephone conference withthe Ancient Mariner, who had reported only progress with an exceptionallystrong nibble that very day from a retired quack doctor.

  "Let me pawn my rings," the Ancient Mariner had urged, not for the firsttime, 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 afigure of speech. I'll do some thinking to-night an' see you in themorning, sir. Hold on to them rings an' don't be no more than casual inplayin' that doctor. Make 'm come to you. It's the only way. Nowyou'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-downwas very near. In his pocket was precisely the room-rent for thefollowing week, the advance payment of which was already three daysoverdue and clamorously demanded by the hard-faced landlady. In therooms, with care, was enough food with which to pinch through for anotherday. The Ancient Mariner's modest hotel bill had not been paid for twoweeks--a prodigious sum under the circumstances, being a first-classhotel; while the Ancient Mariner had no more than a couple of dollars inhis pocket with which to make a sound like prosperity in the ears of theretired doctor who wanted to go a-treasuring.

  Most catastrophic of all, however, was the fact that Dag Daughtry wasthree quarts short of his daily allowance and did not dare break into therent money which was all that stood between him and his family and thestreet. This was why he sat at the beer table with Captain Jorgensen,who was just returned with a schooner-load of hay from the PetalumaFlats. He had already bought beer twice, and evinced no further show ofthirst. Instead, he was yawning from long hours of work and waking andlooking at his watch. And Daughtry was three quarts short! Besides,Hanson had not yet been smashed, so that the cook-job on the schoonerstill lay ahead an unknown distance in the future.

  In his desperation, Daughtry hit upon an idea with which to get anotherschooner of steam beer. He did not like steam beer, but it was cheaperthan lager.

  "Look here, Captain," he said. "You don't know how smart that KillenyBoy is. Why, he can count just like you and me."

  "Hoh!" rumbled Captain Jorgensen. "I seen 'em do it in side shows. It'sall tricks. Dogs an' horses can't count."

  "This dog can," Daughtry continued quietly. "You can't fool 'm. I betyou, 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 steward fingered a dime in his pocket. If Killeny failed him itmeant that the rent-money would be broken in upon. But Killeny couldn'tand 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 secretinstructions, Michael was called over from where he lay at Kwaque's feetin a corner. When Steward placed a chair for him at the table andinvited him into it, he began to key up. Steward expected something ofhim, wanted him to show off. And it was not because of the showing offthat he was eager, but because of his love for Steward. Love and servicewere one in the simple processes of Michael's mind. Just as he wouldhave leaped into fire for Steward's sake, so would he now serve Stewardin any way Steward desired. That was what love meant to him. It was alllove meant to him--service.

  "Waiter!" Steward called; and, when the waiter stood close at hand: "Twobeers.--Did you get that, Killeny? _Two_ beers."

  Michael squirmed in his chair, placed an impulsive paw on the table, andimpulsively flashed out his ribbon of tongue to Steward's close-bendingface.

  "He will remember," Daughtry told the scow-schooner captain.

  "Not if we talk," was the reply. "Now we will fool your bow-wow. I willsay that the job is yours when I smash Hanson. And you will say it isfor me to smash Hanson now. And I will say Hanson must give me reasonfirst to smash him. And then we will argue like two fools with mouthsfull of much noise. Are you ready?"

  Daughtry nodded, and thereupon ensued a loud-voiced discussion that drewMichael's earnest attention from one talker to the other.

  "I got you," Captain Jorgensen announced, as he saw the waiterapproaching 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 inhis mind for _one_ beer, and _two_, is wiped out, like a wave on thebeach wipes out the writing in the sand."

  "I guess he ain't goin' to forget arithmetic no matter how much noise youshouts," Daughtry argued aloud against his sinking spirits. "An' I ain'tgoin' to butt in," he added hopefully. "You just watch 'm for himself."

  The tall, schooner-glass of beer was placed before the captain, who laida swift, containing hand around it. And Michael, strung as a tautstring, knowing that something was expected of him, on his toes to serve,remembered his ancient lessons on the _Makambo_, vainly looked into theimpassive face of Steward for a sign, then looked about and saw, not_two_ glasses, but _one_ glass. So well had he learned the differencebetween one and two that it came to him--how the profoundest psychologistcan no more state than can he state what thought is in itself--that therewas one glass only when two glasses had been commanded. With an abruptupspring, his throat half harsh with anger, he placed both forepaws onthe 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 hishead gave adequate reply.

  "We try again," said the captain, very much awake and interested, withthe back of his hand wiping the beer-foam from his moustache. "Maybe heknows one an' two. How about three? And four?"

  "Just the same, Skipper. He counts up to five, and knows more than fivewhen it is more than five, though he don't know the figures by name afterfive."

  "Oh, Hanson!" Captain Jorgensen bellowed across the bar-room to the cookof 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. Weare three. Daughtry is ordering three beers. The bow-wow hears three. Ihold up two fingers like this to the waiter. He brings two. The bow-wowraises hell with the waiter. You see."

  All of which came to pass, Michael blissfully unappeasable until theorder was filled properly.

  "He can't count," was Hanson's conclusion. "He sees one man withoutbeer. 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 willorder four. Then each man will have his glass, but Killeny will talk tothe waiter just the same."

  True enough, now thoroughly aware of the game, Michael made outcry to thewaiter till the fourth glass was brought. By this time many men wereabout the table, all wanting to buy beer and test Michael.

  "Glory be," Dag Daughtry solloquized. "A funny world. Thirsty onemoment. The next moment they'd fair drown you in beer."

  Several even wanted to buy Michael, offering ridiculous sums like fifteenand twenty dollars.

  "I tell you what," Captain Jorgensen muttered to Daughtry, whom he haddrawn away into a corner. "You give me that bow-wow, and I'll smashHanson right now, and you got the job right away--come to work in themorning."

  Into another corner the proprietor of the Pile-drivers' Home drewDaughtry to whisper to him:

  "You stick around here every night with that dog of yourn. It makestrade. I'll gi
ve you free beer any time and fifty cents cash money anight."

  It was this proposition that started the big idea in Daughtry's mind. Ashe 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 freebeer 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 sellsbeer 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-morrownight 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 hand's wriggled and squirmed with delight,flipping out his tongue and bobbing his tail in the air. Whatever itwas, it was good, for it was Steward who spoke.