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Updated: June 24, 2025
After two wild days of drinking Carline suddenly sobered up when the fact became assured that Nelia had gone and really meant to remain away, perhaps forever. The thing that startled him into certainty was the paper which he found signed by himself, at the bank. He had forgotten all about signing the papers that night when Nelia had shown herself to be the gayest sport of them all.
Raunchin's what she needs!" They floated out of the current into the slow reverse eddy, and coming up close to Rasba's fleet, talked back and forth with him till a gleam of light through a window struck him clearly out of the dark. "Hue-e-e!" a shrill woman's voice laughed. "Hit's Rasba, the Riveh Prophet Rasba! Did yo' all git to catch Nelia Crele, Parson?"
"Say, Terabon, there's a lady down by the slough wants to get to talk to you." "Who ?" "She just dropped in to-night, Nelia Crele! She's into her boat down at the head of the sandbar, facing the switch willows. There's a little gasolene sternwheeler next below her boat." "She's dropped in? All right, boys, much obliged!" They separated.
"You write for newspapers?" she repeated. She came and sat down on the bow deck of his skiff, frankly curious and interested. "My name's Nelia Crele," she smiled. "I'm a shanty-boater. That's my boat." "I'm sure I'm glad to meet you," he bowed, "Mrs. Crele." "You find lots to write about?" "I can't write fast enough," he replied, enthusiastically, "I've been coming six weeks from St. Louis.
It had waited till the man was ready, then with a lavish hand the storehouses of the master intellects of the world were opened to him, for him to help himself. Nelia suddenly started up from her chair and looked around, herself the victim of her own raillery, which had grown to be an understanding of the pathetic hunger of the man for these things.
"But, goodness, gracious sake, you're pretty, pretty as a picture! I 'lowed yo' had a man scoutin' aroun'. Why somethin' mout happen to a lady, if she didn't have a man or know how to take cyar of herse'f." Nelia shrugged her shoulders. Mrs. Tons, the river woman, gazed for a minute at the pretty, partly averted face.
They especially warned her against stopping anywhere near Island 37. "They're bad there and mean." Despard shook his head, gravely. "I won't stop in there," Nelia promised. "River folks anybody can get along with, but those Up-the-Bankers!" "Hit's seo," Jet cried. "They don't have no feelings for nobody." "You'll be dropping on down?" Nelia asked. "D'rectly!" Cope admitted.
On the other hand, with uncanny certainty, those most eager to meet are kept apart and thrown to the ends of the world. Parson Rasba saw Nelia Crele's boat drift out into the current and drop down the Chute of Wolf Island, and impelled by solitude and imagination he followed her.
The river had made Nelia Crele believe that she was in jeopardy from man; but it was a little hurricane, or, as the river people call them, cyclones, that menaced. Dire as was the confusion and imminent as was the peril, Nelia felt a sense of relief from what would have been harder to bear an attack by men.
"About all men want's a full stomach, anyhow, an' if you could only git one that wa'n't lazy, an' didn't drink, an' wasn't impedent, an' knowed anything, besides, you'd have something. Ain't that so, Nelia?" "Oh, indeed yes," Nelia cried, from the fullness of her experience, which was far less than that of the hostess.
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