“Suspicioned you’d struck a school, and gone home clean tuckered. Oh, but you’re a smart one, Jude! Couldn’t no other girl ’a’ done it, sir, this side o’ the Atlantic!”
He caught up the dressed fish and bent over a fresh barrel; his voice sounded muffled and hollow to Judith.
“Knew there weren’t no time to spare—nobody hereabouts to help out—went at it myself all flyin’,—been down here since seven o’clock.”
“Oh, Jemmy!” Judith trembled. The throb in her throat hurt her. “What time is it now?” she asked.
A grunt issued from the barrel depths. “Time! Ain’t any time now! I told you we’d got to fly!”
It was almost twelve. They worked on, for the most part silently, until daylight began to redden the east. One barrel after another was headed up by Jemmy Three’s tireless hands. Judith counted barrels mechanically as she toiled.
“Four!” she cried. Then, “Five!” “Six!”
“There’ll be a good eight—you see,” Jem Three said, rolling a new one into position. “You’ll get a good fifty dollars, Jude; see if you don’t! How’s that for one haul? Ain’t any other girl could ’a’ done it!”
“Oh, don’t!” sobbed Judith suddenly. She let a little silver fellow slip to the ground, half-dressed, and went over to Jemmy Three.
“Don’t say another word—don’t dress another fish—don’t move till I tell you!” she cried. “I cant’t stand it another minute! I—I thought you helped yourself to my lobsters—I thought I thought it. And you’ve been here all night working for me—”