"What man's dog are you? Maybe you're a nigger'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's 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."

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