A VISITOR
Skippy sat up instantly, threw off the bedclothes and slid to the floor.
Then he hurried to the little table and lighted the lamp, meanwhile
glancing toward the door uneasily. The knock sounded again; this time
insistently.
He rushed to the door and swung it open. A man stood before him in the
pelting rain, the tallest, broadest man he had ever seen in his life. He
could not have been out of his twenties and had a large, rather amiable
looking face; so large, indeed, that it made his blue eyes seem small
and insignificant.
[Illustration: A MAN STOOD BEFORE HIM IN THE PELTING RAIN.]
As Skippy waited questioningly, he moved his ponderous neck above his
upturned coat collar and smiled, a slow, secretive smile. Then he half
turned and glanced quickly toward the inlet, before he spoke.
“Sure and be ye Toby’s kid?” he asked with a slight brogue. “Can I come
in? And where’s Toby bein’ at this hour?” He walked into the cabin
quickly.
The ghost of a smile flitted across Skippy’s tear-stained cheeks as he
closed the door.
“Sure, sure, come in!” he said hospitably. “Pop ain’t here. He’s....”
“’Tis all right, so ’tis,” the stranger interposed pleasantly, and
calmly divested himself of his wet clothing. “I got nothin’ but time.
Your ould man told me I’d always be welcome in his diggins so here I be.
’Tis too bad ’bout this scow, though. I only got wise tonight that the
inspectors told Toby the _Minnie M. Baxter_ was junk. Bad cess to ’em.
So Flint gypped Toby on it, did he?”
“An’ how!” Skippy answered dismally. “Gee, gee....”
The man got up and waving his hands deprecatingly, made a quick movement
toward one of the windows on the inlet side. He bent his huge frame in a
stooping posture and after rubbing the steam from the diminutive pane,
he peered out intently.
Suddenly he turned back and smiled his slow, secretive smile.
“I ain’t exactly aisy in me mind, kid,” he explained with a low chuckle.
“I be keepin’ a weather eye on thim coppers. They’re curious like ’bout
some stuff and I ain’t in the spirit to answer thim. They got me barge
and that’s enough, so ’tis.”
“You ain’t Big Joe Tully?” Skippy asked.
“That be callin’ the turn, kid. S’pose your Pop give ye an earful ’bout
me. Well, I started out shootin’ straight like he did, but whilst
Flint’s got the monop’ly on shippin’ and the like on this river, a guy’s
a million to one, so he is.”
“Mr. Flint won’t have it no more,” Skippy gulped. “I guess you ain’t
heard....”
“_What?_” asked Big Joe Tully reaching in his pocket for a cigarette.
“He’s dead—he was killed tonight.” Tears rushed to Skippy’s eyes again.
“An’ my Pop’s been sorta accused, Mr. Tully,” he added, and blurted out
the whole story.
Tully was puffing energetically on his cigarette when Skippy finished.
“Now don’t ye be worryin’ kid,” he said sympathetically. “If that ol’
rat was dead when Toby got there they can’t do nothin’ to him. Toby’ll
be home tomorrow, so he will, I bet.”
Skippy felt instantly cheered. He was beginning to feel glad of Big
Joe’s comforting presence when he bethought himself of the man’s dubious
activities on the river. Wasn’t it this man and his ilk that his father
had warned him against? Men who weren’t honest? The boy sat down on his
bunk to think it over.
To his surprise, Tully had got up and was putting on his coat and hat.
Immediately, Skippy forgot that he was considering the moral aspect of
an invitation to the man to stay; he forgot all his father’s warnings
against association with the river gentry, and thought only of the void
that Tully’s sudden departure would make in the long night.
“I thought you said you were gonna stay, Mr. Tully?” he said with
evident disappointment. “Gee, now you ain’t, huh?”
“’Tis sorry I be, kid,” said Big Joe with a friendly wink. “I did think
along thim lines when I come in, but since the coppers been nosin’
’round here tonight, I’ll be mosyin’ along. They might come back and
spot me here so I’d better be takin’ the air.”
“Did they catch you carryin’ _stuff_?” Skippy asked, interested. “Is
that why?”
“Sure and they did that. Somewan tipped off the police—somewan what was
jealous I wasn’t carryin’ _their_ stuff.” He laughed lightly. “The
coppers hook ye either way, so they do. Look how quick they come after
Toby and they knew he was on the up and up! So I says, does it pay?”
Then, seeing the shadow on Skippy’s face, he added: “But sure you’ll be
seein’ Toby back tomorrow, kid. They can’t be keepin’ him when he didn’t
do it.”
“He didn’t do it, so they can’t!” Skippy echoed.
“’Tis a cinch, so ’tis,” said Big Joe Tully with an awkward attempt to
sympathize. “Be hittin’ the hay now, kid, an’ ye’ll be seein’ Toby
tomorrow or me name ain’t Joe Tully. Now I’ll be swingin’ into me kicker
and chug her up the river till daylight. I’ll be layin’ low a while and
some day I’ll be seein’ ye and Toby. Be watchin’ the old step. S’long.”
He went out like a breeze and Skippy soon heard the chug of his engine.
Another craft muffled so that the ears of the law would not hear its
approach! The boy made a mental grimace at the thought of all this
muffled life on the river, Big Joe Tully included. His inherent love of
clean living and honesty had come to the fore as his father had wanted
it to. And honesty and clean living _did_ pay despite what Tully had
said. Certainly it would pay his father tomorrow! He lay back on his
bunk and closed his burning eyes.
Tomorrow was almost here ... almost....