CHAPTER XVI RIVER PEOPLE

“An’ when I sees ye layin’ in the bottom o’ that kicker, I’d swore I was seein’ things so I would,” Big Joe Tully was saying. “Lucky I gets it in me noodle that somethin’s wrong the way that bell keeps ringin’.”

The shanty of the Minnie M. Baxter was bright with the light of mid-morning. The floor had been scrubbed almost to whiteness, the table was laid with a soft Turkey red cloth and the lamp looked shiny and clean. Skippy’s feverish eyes took it all in before he turned on his pillow.

“I felt so sick, I didn’t exactly know it was you,” he said weakly. “I heard voices, but I couldn’t think what it was all about. All I’d thought all night was that I hadda keep on ringin’ the bell.”

“Sure, kid, and ye rang it!” said Big Joe with a light laugh.
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“An’ you sure saved me,” Skippy smiled in return. “Gee, it was lucky you came that way, huh? Where’d you been?”

Big Joe lighted a cigarette and puffed on it before answering.

“Sure an’ just puttin’ the big eye on some new location for a new racket,” he said softly. “I got six men with me.”

“Is it—is it gonna be straight?” Skippy asked.

“Nah,” Big Joe laughed. “Who’ll be straight in the Basin and live like a human bein’? As ’tis, what they got? They’re all doin’ the higher-up’s dirty work; but me, I ain’t so foolish even if ould Flint tipped off the coppers and they grab me scow. I got a little money and I’ll work this new racket and make lots more. The doctor says ye’ve got a pretty weak lung so ye need a month in bed and the best o’ food. Well, sufferin’ swordfish, we’ll dig up the dough so’s ye’ll be fat an’ sassy ’fore Toby comes out.”

Skippy’s eyes lighted up.

“Gee, Mr. Tully, it must be costin’ an awful lotta money for a lawyer to appeal the case, huh?”

Big Joe waved a large hand deprecatingly.
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“Forget it, Skippy. Ain’t I doin’ it for a good friend and ain’t I doin’ it so’s ye won’t see Toby in the can for twinty years or more? Don’t ye be worryin’ ’bout the dough, me lad. I made it with the scow easy. Now it’ll do you and Toby some good, so ’twill.”

“Gee whiz,” breathed the boy gratefully. “It’s too much for you to do for Pop and me ’cause we can’t pay it back—never!”

“That’s why ye gotta be forgettin’ it!” Tully protested. “I ain’t got nobody to spend it on, kid, so I might’s well spend it on you and Toby. I’d only leave it to ye in me will whin I died!” He laughed loudly. “Now’ll we be good friends, kid?”

Skippy had to fight back the tears before he smiled.

“Gee, sure! Gee, I like you an awful lot, Mis——”

“Cut out the Mister, kid! Big Joe’s me monicker, and nothin’ else. Now anythin’ more on that big mind o’ yourn?”

Skippy nodded hesitantly.
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“Gee—gee whiz,” he stammered, “I just was thinkin’ wouldn’t it be nice if you had enough money so you didn’t have to go into any crooked rackets for a while, huh? Gee, I’d like to think you didn’t have to do it, honest I would, Big Joe! Maybe I’ll be able to go to work when I get strong and I’ll be able to help then, huh? Maybe we can live on clean, honest money like Pop wanted me to, huh? Besides, the money you’re helpin’ Pop and me with is kind of from when you were runnin’ your barge straight, isn’t it?”

Big Joe got up from his chair, went over to the table and ground out his cigarette stub in an ash tray. Then he came back and leaning over Skippy’s bunk, he rumpled the boy’s hair playfully.

“’Tis a funny lad ye be, Skippy. But I s’pose ye be gettin’ it from Toby. He was always agin doin’ Flint’s work. Said he wouldn’t ’a’ started it if he hadn’t been takin’ care o’ ye so much daytimes whin ye was sick with that throat business.”

“Pop was always honest inside, that shows it,” said Skippy proudly.

Big Joe smiled.

“Anyways ye’re right about me runnin’ me barge straight the first year,” he said vehemently. “I did.” Then: “So ye want me on the level? Well, we’ll be seein’ about that but we ain’t goin’ to starve I’ll be tellin’ ye, so I will.”

Skippy’s eyes were shining.

“You’ll get along if people can see you’re tryin’ to be honest, that’s what Pop said.”
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“Sufferin’ swordfish, kid,” said Big Joe. “Be quittin’ thinkin’ ’bout anythin’ now ’ceptin’ gettin’ better. And no more talk about work when ye’re better. Sufferin’ swordfish, ye ain’t nothin’ but skin and bones, the doctor said! Ye’re as pale as a ghost, too. Eggs, milk and chicken soup is what ye need and what ye’ll be gettin’.”

“Who’ll fix ’em?” Skippy asked, chuckling weakly.

“Our nixt door neighbor on the Dinky O. Cross,” Big Joe said. “She’s a right nice woman, kid—Mrs. Duffy, and as soon as she sees us carryin’ ye in she said it milted her heart. So we put a plank across to her scow and she come in here and did ’bout iverythin’ ’fore the doctor come. I give her the dough for the things and she’s cookin’ thim now.”

“She’s a—she’s one of the river people, huh? Like you, Big Joe?” Skippy asked wondering.

“Like you and me, Skippy me boy,” answered Big Joe, nodding his head. “She’s one o’ our people, the kind what helps their own whin there’s trouble.”

Skippy shut his eyes to visualize the stern, cold visage of Marty Skinner. Hadn’t he talked of river people as if they were all of a kind? Hadn’t he said they were all crooks and criminals?
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Big Joe had put him in that category of river people, he who had never disobeyed a law in his young life! He resented it and wanted to say so, but his better judgment prevailed against it and he decided to wait and see what kind of people these river people of Brown’s Basin really were. Certainly if they were all like Big Joe Tully, Skinner had much to learn.

It was the buxom Mrs. Duffy who decided it, some moments later. She came in like the fresh morning breeze from the inlet, clean-aproned and smiling, laden with soup and eggnog and a wealth of bright cretonne tucked under her generous arm.

“Cretonne curtains for thim little windows, bhoy,” she said breathlessly. “Mr. Tully give me the money for ’em an’ I made ’em up ’fore I come over. It’ll seem more like home to ye in Brown’s Basin whin ye see ’em from the outside. The inlet’s dismal enough, so ’tis, without starin’ at it through bare, dirty winders; ain’t I right, Mr. Tully?”

“Guess so,” Big Joe answered a little abashed. “Women folks know more about thim things, but even me, I be likin’ that bright stuff flutterin’ around a winder. Ye got the soup an’ everythin’?”

Mrs. Duffy’s smile was vast and it swept from Big Joe to the wan-looking Skippy.

“Ye’ll pick up, so ye will, or me and Mr. Tully’ll be to blame, Skippy,” she said heartily.
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Skippy almost choked with gratitude. He tried to speak, but could only think that these were river people—his people! Big Joe, who was spending a lot of money so that his father might have another chance for freedom and who would spare no expense to nurse him back to health. And Mrs. Duffy, who was bringing cheer into the shanty of the Minnie M. Baxter and who seemed to care so much that he get well!

River people? Skinner didn’t know what he was talking about! He, Skippy Dare, was proud to be one of the river people.