The five melon-hungry deserters from the Water Lily came breathlessly to the “snake” rail-fence which bordered the “patch” and paused with what Gerald called “neatness and dispatch.”
Suddenly there rose from behind the fence a curious figure to confront them. Two figures, in fact, a man’s and a mule’s. Both were of a dusty brown color, both were solemn in expression, and so like one another in length of countenance that Melvin giggled and nudged Jim, declaring under his breath:
“Look like brothers, don’t you know?”
Ephraim was the first to recover composure as, removing his hat, he explained:
“We-all’s trabellers an’ jes’ natchally stopped to enquiah has yo’ wattymillyouns fo’ sale.”
Chloe sniggered at the old man’s deft turn of the matter, for she knew perfectly well that the idea of buying the melons hadn’t entered his mind until that moment. He was an honest creature in general, but no southern negro considers it a crime to steal a water-melon—until he is caught at it!
The air with which Ephy bowed and scraped sent the boys into roars of laughter but didn’t in the least lessen the gloom of the farmer’s face. At last he opened his lips, closed them, reopened them and answered:
“Ye-es. I have. But—I cayn’t sell ’em. They ain’t never no sale for my truck. Is they, Billy?”
The mournfulness of his voice was absurd. As absurd as to call the solemn-visaged mule by the frivolous name of “Billy.” Evidently the animal understood human speech, for in response to his owner’s appeal the creature opened his own great jaws in a prodigious bray. Whereupon the farmer nodded, gravely, as if to say: