It was glorious hard work, and before it was finished the sun had turned the water violet, then red, then gold and blue, and yet no one had come to take a share in the salvage, and no one had come to claim the melons. "I tell you," said Bascom, as he wheeled the last barrow-load up from the beach—"I tell you they's mascots, and they's come right in from the deep sea. Do you reckon they's too many of 'em for usses to eat?"
The Captain straightened himself, and measured the heap of cracked melons, which he had left out as he piled the good ones symmetrically under one of the live-oaks. "Yo' boy," he said, "if yo' jus' made way wid de busted ones I'd be paintin' a black ring roun' de mas' of de little Mystery 'fo' sunset, an' w'ad would I do 'boud pickin' de figs faw de cannin' factory?"
"O-h-h," groaned Bascom, "I'd forgot about the figs. Can't they wait till we take these melons off in the Mystery and sell 'em?"
"De melons can wait, ya-as, now we got dem all safe," said the Captain. "De cracked ones will not keep noway, an' de good ones will las' bettah dan de figs. An' w'ad is mo' to de point, dere is de ownah of de melons to consult."
"But he isn't here," Bascom said, "an' we don't know where he is. They didn't bring his address with 'em when they come in on the tide."
"I reckon I know his address," the Captain answered, "an' maybe yo' would, also, if yo' let yo'se'f t'ink 'boud id. De big tide washed dem off de landin' up de bayou. Lazare was a-tellin' me yestahday dat he an' de boss ad de big fahm had a quahl boud de price o' melons, an' Lazare, who was to have take dem in de Alphonsine, he go off mad, an' de melons dey stay in a pile on de landin', an' I was t'inkin' boud goin' up to see de boss me aftah de figs was pick'. I reckon now de bes' way is faw me to go ad once while yo' pick de figs."
"But we ought to start right now while the tide is goin' out," objected Bascom.
"Dere will be oder tides, an' dey is waitin' faw de figs ad de factory," said the Captain, "so I fink yo' bettah go to pickin', boy"; and without stopping for further persuasion from Bascom he got into his skiff and headed toward the mouth of Bayou Porto.
As Bascom carried the last of the melons to add to the heap it slipped from his hands accidentally, and split into rich red pieces on the sand. "U-m," he said; "lucky it was a cracked one." He took it up to eat it in the shade of the live-oak. "Too bad," he added, "after you was so enterprisin' to start out by yourse'f that me an' Captain Tony couldn't agree to take you right along. Queer how folkses can't agree 'bout you. If it wasn't for them dumb ole figs! S'pose when I'm done eatin' I got to go up an' go to pickin'. Seems like such a sailor as Captain Tony hadn't ought to fuss with things on shore."
His arms were aching from the heavy pull, and they did not feel drawn toward the sticky figs, and mud daubers were sure to be in the trees ready to sting interfering people, and he had not finished with the melon when Peter Pierre, or Peter Peer, as the Creoles pronounce it, came hopping leisurely along the beach, with one leg wrapped around the other like a stork's. He was a neighbor's boy, and had been sent to borrow Captain Tony's axe. There would be no morning coffee at his house until Captain Tony's axe had chopped wood enough to build a fire.