Jeems glanced at Val over his shoulder and then without a word he edged toward the side of the bed and tried to stand. But with a muffled gasp he sank back again, pale and weak. Awkwardly Val forced him back against his pillows.
"It's all right," he assured him again.
But in answer the swamper shook his head violently, "It ain't all right in the swamp."
In a flash Val caught his meaning. Swampers lived on house-boats for the most part, and the boats will outride all but unusual floods. But Jeems' cabin was built on land, land none too stable even in dry weather. The swamp boy touched Val's hand.
"It ain't safe. Two of them piles is rotted. If the watah gits that far, they'll go."
"You mean the piles holding up your cabin platform?" Val asked.
He nodded. For a second Val caught a glimpse of forlorn loneliness beneath the sullen mask Jeems habitually wore.
"But there's nothing you can do now—"
"It ain't the cabin. Ah gotta git the chest—"
"The one in the cabin?"