“Well, it did seem a heap of money to me,” Jackson admitted. “But Mr. Hanna said it was all right. It was Mr. Hanna sent the order.”
Hanna had bought the boat! Lockwood seemed to get a sudden glimpse of his enemy’s game. Jackson was looking at him with a half question, reflective and sober; but Lockwood judged that criticisms would be premature just then.
“Well, maybe it’s a better boat than I thought,” he said easily.
“Reckon it must be.” Jackson lounged back comfortably, took out a silver and pearl cigarette case and offered to toss it to Lockwood, who shook his head.
“Sis says she used to know you in N’Orleans,” he remarked, striking a match.
“Oh, I wasn’t in her class,” Lockwood laughed. “She was a young business lady. I was just an auto mechanic in overalls. It’s kind of her to remember me at all.”
“Great place, N’Orleans, they say,” went on Jackson wistfully. “I expect you’ve seen lots of fine towns like that, though.”
The turpentine rider smiled. He knew that throughout the Gulf States New Orleans is the ideal of metropolitan romance. It is what Paris is to Europe, what New York is to the Northeast.
“I ain’t never been nowhere,” the boy continued. “I do sure aim to go to Mobile and N’Orleans one day. We’re green, but what’s it matter? We’ve got the price. I’d like to go by Pascagoula, too. We-all have got investments there,” he added with pride.
“Buying land?”