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Updated: June 14, 2025
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 of his you can see 'm shinin' in his lovely brown eyes but he can't get 'em across to me.
And as to forecasting Dag Daughtry's fate, along with Kwaque, no maddest drug-dream could have approximated it. One 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.
Waiting, afflicted and ashamed, at a friend's house at Dag, the accomplishment of a promise so dearly purchased, she heard the beating of the alarm drum, and looked, from curiosity, through the window, when she saw her unfortunate parent ascending the scaffold!
"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.
"I 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.
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 appropriated 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.
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 gruffly: "Stick around, dog, stick around." Dag Daughtry chuckled to himself, as Michael, advancing, sniffed his trousers' legs long and earnestly.
"There is something hidden in his breast," cried one of the warders, searching in his jerkin, and at length drawing forth a short, clumsy pistol, or dag, as the weapon was then called. "It is loaded, an please your Majesty," the man continued, after examining it. Exclamations of horror arose from those around, and Jocelyn had again some difficulty in protecting the prisoner from their fury.
Up to five, whether shoes or shirts or pillow-slips, Michael would fetch the number requested. And between the 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.
Helgi wedded Sigrun, and they begate sons together, but Helgi lived not to be old; for Dag, the son of Hogni, sacrificed to Odin, praying that he might avenge his father. So Odin lent Dag his spear, and Dag met Helgi, his brother-in-law, at a place called Fetter-grove, and thrust him through with that spear, and there fell Helgi dead; but Dag rode to Sevafell, and told Sigrun of the news.
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