Out in the middle of the river we beheld Captain Peppers on the flatboat, which we had left on the bank the year before. He had been dragging the stream, but had stopped work when he heard our motor in the marsh.
“Look at that ol’ pussyfoot up there fish’n fer jools!” exclaimed Sipes. “He looks like a bug float’n on a chip. You c’n see ’is ol’ beak from ’ere! Listen at me josh ’im w’en we git up to ’im. He gives me pains. I’d like to know wot ’e was ever cap’n of. It’s prob’ly one o’ them demijohn titles. They’s slews of ’em. Fellers that drinks a lot gits to be called Colonel an’ Major an’ Cap’n, that ain’t never c’mmanded nothin’ er fit nothin’ but demijohns all their lives, an’ I bet ’e’s one of ’em. The redder their noses gits the higher up their titles goes, an’ some of ’em gits to be gen’rals ’fore they’r laid away, an’ they’s some s’loon jedges over to the county seat that ain’t never been in no court ’cept to be fined fer bein’ drunk. Don’t you start nothin’ ’bout that ol’ motor, Bill, ’cause it won’t do now.”
“Hello, Cap’n!” shouted the old man, as we came up. “Fine day, ain’t it? Cetchin’ any mudturkles?”
The Captain, ill at ease, began poling the flatboat toward the bank.
“I didn’t know you expected to use this outfit again, an’ I thought I’d see if they was any loose pearls layin’ ’round ’ere. Of course now you’re here you c’n go ahead. I don’t want to interfere with you in no way.”
“You won’t,” replied Sipes. “We didn’t know you was clam-fish’n w’en we fust seen you. We thought you’d mosied up ’ere so’s to be near that spring, an’ was jest out cruisin’ on the river fer fun.”
The Captain’s nose was a little redder than when we last saw him, but otherwise he appeared unchanged. He was invited to land and have lunch with us. Saunders introduced him to the onion-skinner, liquid cheer was produced, and an entente cordiale soon prevailed.
The big sail was again rigged as a shelter tent in its old place, and my tent was put where it was before. The Captain kindly helped to get our camp in order. He showed us a few pearls of moderate value, that he had found during the two weeks he had been at work on the river, and they were purchased by Bascom, at what seemed to be a fair price. Late in the afternoon he partook of more liquid cheer, and rowed away down the river in his little boat.
That night we assembled around the fire, but the circle was not as of old. Something was missing and something had been added. The atmosphere was unsympathetic. There is a certain psychology that pervades gatherings, both great and small, that is subtly sensitive to influences that are often indefinable. In this instance the “repellent aura” was obviously the onion-skinner. He exerted himself to be agreeable, but his bonhomie was about as infectious as that of a crocodile trying to be playful. His personality did not harmonize with the little amenities of life, and he was a misfit anywhere but in a financial transaction.
Sipes’s habitual effervescence seemed to have a false note. Saunders and I kept rather quiet, and the melodies that dwelt in the volatile soul of Narcissus were hushed.