CHAPTER XXX BEASELL

Next day, life in the Basin flowed once more in familiar channels. Tully trod the decks watching for the unwelcome police and puffing furiously on his cigarettes. Skippy sprawled in the rickety easy chair, playing with the dog and calling out to Mrs. Duffy some words of cheer when the occasion required. And when sunset came and the law had not put in its appearance they had supper noisily together.

Tully stretched out in his bunk after the meal had been cleared away. He looked at peace with the world. Skippy, watching him out of the corner of his eye, wondered what new racket he was planning now. And he didn’t rest until he had asked the big fellow point blank.
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“Me racket for a while, kid,” Tully said amiably, “is to be keepin’ ye from gettin’ gloomy and sad. Whin I’m sure that Crosley ain’t set the coppers on me trail thin I’ll be turnin’ around—see? Right now I’m stickin’ close to the Minnie M. Baxter, so I be.”

“And you could do worse, Big Joe, believe me. I’m gonna stick close too until I know what’s what. But we’ll talk about that then.”

An insistent knock sounded on the door. Tully blanched and looked about for some means of escape. But Skippy, braving himself to the task, swung open the door to get it over with.

A man stood outside, bowing graciously and smiling. He stepped inside at Skippy’s invitation.

“Beasell’s the name, boys,” he said. “Yuh heard how Marty Skinner’s runnin’ the works for Buck Flint?”

“Sure we been hearin’ it too much, I’ll be tellin’ ye,” Big Joe snapped as he came ponderously out of his bunk and stood on the floor.

“It’s all jake then, big boy, you an’ me won’t waste no time,” Beasell said unruffled.

“You’ve come to tell us....” Skippy began fearfully.
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“Marty says all yuh squatters in this Basin’ll have tuh scram by sundown tomorrow, get me? He’s had all the rough stuff he’s goin’ for and that goes double for the warehouse guys. So it’s scram in twenty-four hours, see? If yuh can’t take these lousy scows out we’ll blow ’em up, get me? Just a nice little Fourth uh July party, see?” He chuckled as if at a great joke.

“You can’t blow up the Minnie M. Baxter!” Skippy cried. “Even a guy like Skinner can’t take her from me ’cause, ’cause....”

“Lissen, punk, and you too, big boy, it’s scram by sundown tomorrow,” Beasell snarled. “Yuh better get me. I ain’t kiddin’ believe yuh me!” He scowled as he left to spread the bad news to the Dinky O. Cross.

“Sufferin’ swordfish! Sure that Skinner’s a lousy rat,” Big Joe growled. “I should o’ been pastin’ that slimy Beasell but it wouldn’t done no good. He’s only carryin’ out orders.”

“Not only me’n you’s gotta go, Big Joe,” said Skippy plaintively, “but Mrs. Duffy an’ her kids an’ everybody here in the Basin. How’re they all gonna pack up an’ clear out by tomorrow night, huh? Gee, that ain’t fair. There ain’t one of us got a home to go to—gee whiz, these barges, why—they’re home!”

Tully’s face looked distorted as he walked to and fro across the shanty floor. Finally he turned.
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“Sure Skinner don’t know what it means to be sendin’ that Beasell guy down here to be tellin’ us we must be out by tomorrow night, bad cess to him.”

“What d’ye mean, Big Joe?”

“Sure, folks here ain’t like other folks, like ye’ve noticed. They been free for years and they ain’t goin’ to be kicked out without doin’ some kickin’ first thimselves. Law? Sure, they don’t know what it’s all about so what do they care, I’ll be askin’ ye.”

Big Joe Tully had summed it all up in one sentence. They didn’t know about the law, so what did they care about it?

It wasn’t many hours before Skippy learned how little they did care.