DANNY'S OWN STORY BY DON MARQUIS TO MY ... - Pink Monkey

"Why," says the perfessor, "their factory is in
this very town."
And nothing would do fur me but I must go and
see that factory. I couldn't till the quarantine was
pried loose from our house. But when it was, I
went down town and hunted up the place and looked
her over.
It was a big factory, and I was kind of proud of
that. I was glad she wasn't no measly, little, oldfashioned,
run-down concern. Of course, I wasn't
really no relation to it and it wasn't none to me.
But I was named fur it, too, and it come about as
near to being a fambly as anything I had ever had
or was likely to find. So I was proud it seemed to
be doing so well.
I thinks as I looks at her of the thousands and
thousands of bottles that has been coming
out of there fur years and years, and will be fur
years and years to come. And one bottle not so
much different from another one. And all that was
really knowed about me was jest the name on one
out of all them millions and millions of bottles. It
made me feel kind of queer, when I thought of that,
as if I didn't have no separate place in the world any
more than one of them millions of bottles. If any
one will shut his eyes and say his own name over
and over agin fur quite a spell, he will get kind of
wonderized and mesmerized a-doing it--he will
begin to wonder who the dickens he is, anyhow, and
what he is, and what the difference between him
and the next feller is. He will wonder why he
happens to be himself and the next feller HIMSELF.
He wonders where himself leaves off and the rest
of the world begins. I been that way myself--all
wonderized, so that I felt jest like I was a melting
piece of the hull creation, and it was all shifting and
drifting and changing and flowing, and not solid
anywhere, and I could hardly keep myself from
flowing into it. It makes a person feel awful queer,
like seeing a ghost would. It makes him feel like
HE wasn't no solider than a ghost himself. Well,
if you ever done that and got that feeling, you KNOW