For a time his only apparent listener was old Ephraim, who had picked up a hoe somewhere and now leaned upon it, resting from his selection of the melons. But, though he didn’t interfere with the glib narrative, he confirmed it by nods of his gray head, and an occasional “Dat’s so, Cunnel.”
Evidently, the farmer was impressed. He stopped pretending to read and folding his arms, leaned back against the rails, his eyes closed, an expression of patient, sad endurance upon his long face. His manner said as plainly as words:
“If this young gabbler will talk I suppose I must listen.”
But gradually this manner changed. His eyes opened. The book slid to the ground. In spite of his own unwillingness he was interested. A house-boat! He’d never heard of such a thing; but, if the tale were true, it would be something new to see. Besides, ladies in distress? That was an appeal no gentleman could deny, even though that gentleman were as poor as himself. He might well have added “as shiftless;” for another man in his position would have been stirring himself to get that fine crop of melons into market.
Jim finished his recital with the eager inquiry:
“Now, sir, don’t you think you can sell Billy and put a reasonable price on him?”
The lad rose to his feet as he asked this and the man slowly followed his example. Then laying his hand on heart he bowed, saying:
“I cayn’t sell Billy. I give you my word. But, a southern planter is never beyond the power, sir, to bestow a gift. Kindly convey said Billy to Miss Calvert with the compliments of Colonel Judah Dillingham of T. Yonder are the bars. They are down. They are always down. So are my fortunes. Billy, old friend, farewell.”
This strange gentleman then solemnly reseated himself and again picked up his book. A deeper gloom than ever had settled upon him and a sigh that was almost a sob shook him from head to foot.