.

.

" Dag Daughtry complied and in his excitement of interest pulled off the top of another quart of beer for himself.
"Go on, go on, sir," he murmured huskily, wiping his lips, "and the treasure-hunting graft.

I'm straight dying to hear.

Sir, I salute you." "I may say, steward," the Ancient Mariner resumed, "that I was born with a silver spoon that melted in my mouth and left me a proper prodigal son.
Also, that I was born with a backbone of pride that would not melt.