“Gawd!” Eddie ejaculated, paling. Then something like admiration glittered in his little black eyes. “Put the soft pedal on, Dave. Don’t let nobody hear you—”
“It wasn’t murder, Eddie,” Sally interrupted eagerly, her hand going out to close on David’s reassuringly. “It was—an accident, in a way. Tell him, David. Eddie will understand.”
The cook tent was filling up, so David lowered his voice to a murmur as he told Eddie Cobb, briefly but accurately, the story of his probably fatal attack upon Clem Carson.
“Jees!” Eddie breathed, when the recital was finished. “I hope you finished for him! If the old buzzard ain’t dead—and I’ll bet he ain’t—I’d like to take a crack at him myself. You two kids stick with us. I’ll tip off Bybee and I’m a son-of-a-gun if he don’t give you both jobs. The concessions are always short of help—”
“Oh, Eddie, if he only would!” Sally gasped. Then sudden doubt clouded her bright face. “But Eddie, we’d be so conspicuous with the carnival. The police would lay hands on us as soon as we showed our faces—”
“Not if the Big Boss took you under his wing,” Eddie reassured her. “In the carnival the Big Boss is the law. I’ll speak to him myself.”
The carnival roustabouts—big, rough-looking, powerful negroes in undershirts and soiled, nondescript trousers—eyed the trio curiously as they passed from one tent to another, Eddie gesticulating like a Cook’s Tour conductor.
“Jees, Sally, I never expected to see any of you kids again,” Eddie interrupted his monologue, which was like Greek to his guests.
“Have you ever been sorry you ran away, Eddie?” Sally asked, wistfully desiring reassurance, for it was still impossible for her to picture life independent of state charity.
Eddie snorted. “I’ve been seeing life, I have. New York and Chi and San Looey and all the big towns. But I reckon it’s easier for a boy. I never did want to go back, but I’ve thought many a time I’d like to see some of the kids.” He blushed crimson under his big freckles. “How—how’s Ruby, Sally? You know—Ruby Presser? She still there? She must be seventeen now. She was two years younger’n me. I sorta figger on marryin’ Ruby one of these days—say, what’s the matter?” he broke off abruptly.