“Yo’ maw said he was a drinkin’ man, an’ I said to myse’f, from my own ’sperience.... Yo’ set inside yeah, Nelia. I’ll go down theh an’ talk myse’f. We come near buyin’ that bo’t yistehd’y. Leave hit to me!”
Nelia sat down in the shanty-boat, and waited. She had not long to wait. A tall, rather burly man returned with the woman, who introduced the two;
“Mis’ Crele, this is Frank Commer. His bo’t’s fo’ sale, an’ he’ll take $75 cash, for everything, ropes, anchor, stoves, a brass bedstead, an’ everything and I said hit’s reasonable. Hit’s a pine boat, built last fall, and the hull’s sound, with oak framing. Co’se, hit’s small, 22 foot long an’ 7 foot wide, but hit’s cheap.”
“I’ll take it, then,” Nelia nodded.
“You can come look it over,” the man declared. “Tight hull and tight roof. We built it ourselves. But we’re sick of the river, and we’ll sell cheap, right here.”
The three went down to the boat, and Nelia handed him seventy-five dollars in bills. He and his partner, who came down from the town a few minutes later, packed up their personal property in two trunks. They left the dishes and other outfit, including several blankets.
The four talked as the two packed up. One of them suddenly looked sharply at Nelia:
She hesitated, and then laughed:
“Yes.”