The warehouse foreman, or "boss," was sunning himself on the end
platform, just where the lap, lap, lap of the river drowsed upon his ear
on one side, and the buzzing of the bees drowsed on the other. He
started from his nap at the clatter of hoofs and beheld one of those
"little Miss Yanks," as he privately called the visitors to Merredith,
reining in her horse before him, with the grinning darkey a proper
distance behind.
"Wal, I'll be whip-sawed!" ejaculated Mr. Jimson, under his breath. Then
aloud: "Mighty glad t' see yo', miss. It's a pretty evenin', ain't it?
What seems t' be the trouble?"
"Oh, no trouble at all," said the girl of the Red Mill, brightly. "I--I
just thought I'd stop and speak to you."
"That's handsome of yo'," agreed the man, but with a puzzled look.
"I wanted another ride," went on Ruth, "and I got Toby to take me around
this way. Because, you see, I'm curious."
"Is that so, Miss Ruth?" returned the long and lanky man. "Seems t' me
we most of us are. What is yo' curiosity aimin' at right now?"
Ruth laughed, as she saw his gray eyes twinkling. But she put on a brave
front and said: "I'd dearly love to see into your cotton storehouse.
Can't I come in? Are the men working there now?"
"Yes'm. And the boys," said Mr. Jimson, drily.
Ruth had to flush at that. How the boss had guessed her errand she did
not know; but she believed he suspected the reason for her visit. It was
a moment or two before she could decide whether to confide in him or
not.
Meanwhile, Toby held her stirrup and she leaped down and mounted the
platform. The negro led the mare and the mule into the shade. Mr. Jimson
still smiled lazily at her, and chewed a straw.
Finally, when Ruth was just before the man, she smiled one of her
friendly, confiding smiles and he capitulated.
"Miss Ruth," he said, in his soft, Southern drawl, "Jes' what is it yo'
want? I saw you an' that other little Miss Yank--beggin' yo'
pahdon--lookin' at that rag'muffin I took in yisterday, an' I s'pected
that you knowed him."
"Oh, Mr. Jimson! how sharp you are."
"Pretty sharp," admitted the boss, with a sly smile. "I'd like t' know
what he's done."
"He's run away from home," Ruth said quickly.
"Ya-as. They mos' allus do. But what did he do 'fore he ran away, Miss
Ruth?"
The man's dry, crooked smile held assurance in it. Ruth realized that if
she wanted his help--and she did--she must be more open with Mr. Jimson.
"I don't believe that he has really done anything very bad," Ruth said
gravely. "It was what he was accused of and the punishment threatening
him, which made Curly run away."
"Curly?" repeated Jimson.
"Yes. That's what we call him. His name is Henry Smith."
"I'll be whip-sawed!" exclaimed Jimson. "I like that boy. He give me his
real name--he sho' did. Curly Smith he said 'twas. An' yit, _that_'d be
as good a disguise as he could ha' thunk up, mebbe. Smith's a mighty
common name, ain't it?"
"Curly always was a frank and truthful boy. But he was full of
mischief."
She knew that she had Mr. Jimson's sympathy for the boy now, so she
began to tell him all about Curly. The warehouse boss listened without
interruption save for an occasional, "sho', now!" or "you don't say!"
Her own and Helen's adventures since they had left home to come South,
seemed to amuse Mr. Jimson a great deal, too.
"I'll be whip-sawed!" he exclaimed, at last. "You little Miss Yanks are
the beatenes'--I declar'! Never heard tell of sech gals as you are,
travelin' about alone--jest as perky as young pa'tridges! Sho' now!"
"My chum and I have gone about a good deal alone. We don't think it so
very strange. 'Most always my friend's twin brother is with us."
"Wal, that don't make so much difference," said Mr. Jimson. "Her twin
brother? Is he older'n she is?" he added, quite innocently.
"Oh, no," Ruth admitted, stifling a desire to laugh. "My chum and I feel
quite confident of finding our way about all right."
"Sho' now! I got a gal at home that's bigger'n older'n you and Miss
Helen and her maw wouldn't trust her t' go t' the Big House for a
drawin' of tea. She'd plumb git lost," chuckled Mr. Jimson. "But now!
about this boy. What d' yo' want t' do about him?"
"Oh, Mr. Jimson!" Ruth cried. "I do so want to be sure that Curly stays
here until I can hear from his grandmother. I have written to her and
begged her to take him back----"
"An' git him grabbed by the police?" demanded Jimson.
"He ought to go back and fight it out," Ruth declared firmly. "He ought
not to knock about the world, and fall into bad associations as he may,
and come to harm. I don't believe he will be punished if he is not
guilty."
"It don't a-tall matter whether a man's innocent or guilty," objected
Mr. Jimson. "If the police is after him, he's jest natcher'ly _scared_."
"I suppose so," Ruth admitted. "I would run away myself, I suppose. But
I want Curly to go back to Mrs. Sadoc Smith."
"Jest as you say, Miss Ruth. I'll hold on to him," the warehouse boss
promised.
"I hope he doesn't see us girls and get frightened, thinking that we'll
tell on him," Ruth said.
"I'll see to it that he doesn't skedaddle," Mr. Jimson assured her.
"He's sleepin' at my shack nights. I'll lock him in his room."
Ruth laughed at that, and rather ruefully. "That's what his grandmother
did," she observed. "But it didn't do any good, you see. He got out of
the window and went over the shed roof to the ground. And it was a
twenty-foot drop, too."
"Don't yo' fret," said Mr. Jimson. "The windah of his room is barred.
And he'd half t' drop into the river. By the looks of things," he added,
cocking his eye at the treetops, "there's goin' to be plenty of water in
this river pretty soon."
Jimson was a prophet. That very night it began to rain.