sh. I live in my heart and in my
head, sir--not in this feeble carcass I cursorily inhabit. Take that
hand. I want to talk with you afterward."

Dag Daughtry extended his hand hesitantly, but the Ancient Mariner seized
it and pressed it so fiercely with his age-lean fingers as to hurt.

"Now we can talk," he said. "I have thought the whole matter over. We
sail on the _Bethlehem_. When the wicked man discovers that he can never
get a penny of my fabulous treasure, we will leave him. He will be glad
to be quit of us. We, you and I and your nigger, will go ashore in the
Marquesas. Lepers roam about free there. There are no regulations. I
have seen them. We will be free. The land is a paradise. And you and I
will set up housekeeping. A thatched hut--no more is needed. The work
is trifling. The freedom of beach and sea and mountain will be ours. For
you there will be sailing, swimming, fishing, hunting. There are
mountain goats, wild chickens and wild cattle. Bananas and plantains
will ripen over our heads--avocados and custard apples, also. The red
peppers grow by the door, and there will be fowls, and the eggs of fowls.
Kwaque shall do the cooking. And there will be beer. I have long noted
your thirst unquenchable. There will be beer, six quarts of it a day,
and more, more.

"Quick. We must start now. I am sorry to tell you that I have vainly
sought your dog. I have even paid detectives who were robbers. Doctor
Emory stole Killeny Boy from you, but within a dozen hours he was stolen
from Doctor Emory. I have left no stone unturned. Killeny Boy is gone,
as we shall be gone from this detestable hole of a city.

"I have a machine waiting. The driver is paid well. Also, I have
promised to kill him if he defaults on me. It bears just a bit north of
east over the sandhill on the road that runs along the other side of the
funny forest . . . That is right. We will start now. We can discuss
afterward. Look! Daylight is beginning to break. The guards must not
see us . . . "

Out into the storm they passed, Kwaque, with a heart wild with gladness,
bringing up the rear. At the beginning Daughtry strove to walk aloof,
but in a trice, in the first heavy gust that threatened to whisk the
frail old man away, Dag Daughtry's hand was grasping the other's arm, his
own weight behind and under, supporting and impelling forward and up the
hill through the heavy sand.

"Thank you, steward, thank you,