“Out with your crowbars there. Pry up that hatch! I’m captain of this boat, by God, and anybody, man or woman, who nails down that hatch again without my orders gets put off this boat wherever we are, and so I say.”
Did Parthenia Ann Hawks shrink and cower and pale under the blinding glare of this pyrotechnic profanity? Not that indomitable woman. The picture of outraged virtue in curl papers, she stood her ground like a Roman matron. She had even, when the flood broke, sent Magnolia indoors with a gesture meant to convey protection from the pollution of this verbal stream.
“Well, Captain Hawks, a fine example you have set for your company and crew I must say.”
“You must say! You——! Let me tell you, Mrs. Hawks, ma’am, the less you say the better. And I repeat, anybody touches that hatchway again——”
“Touch it!” echoed Parthy in icy disdain. “I wouldn’t touch it, nor the pilot house, nor the pilot either, if you’ll excuse my saying so, with a ten-foot pole.”
And swept away with as much dignity as a Cotton Blossom early morning costume would permit. Her head bloody but unbowed.
VII
Julie was gone. Steve was gone. Tragedy had stalked into Magnolia’s life; had cast its sable mantle over the Cotton Blossom. Pete had kept his promise and revenge had been his. But the taste of triumph had not, after all, been sweet in his mouth. There was little of the peace of satisfaction in his sooty face stuck out of the engine-room door. The arm that beat the ball drum in the band was now a listless member, so that a hollow mournful thump issued from that which should have given forth a rousing boom.
The day the Cotton Blossom was due to play Lemoyne, Mississippi, Julie Dozier took sick. In show-boat troupes, as well as in every other theatrical company in the world, it is an unwritten law that an actor must never be too sick to play. He may be sick. Before the performance he may be too sick to stand; immediately after the performance he may collapse. He may, if necessary, die on the stage and the curtain will then be lowered. But no real trouper while conscious will ever confess himself too sick to go on when the overture ends and the lights go down.
Julie knew this. She had played show boats for years, up and down the rivers of the Middle West and the South. She had a large and loyal following. Lemoyne was a good town, situated on the river, prosperous, sizable.