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Updated: June 4, 2025
But King wasn't that sort; he yelled to us to move up and make room, and then took down his whip and started up. Pochette pirouetted out of the way, and stood holding to the low plank railing while he went on saying things that, properly pronounced, must have been very blasphemous. King paid about as much attention to him as he would to a good-sized prairie-dog chittering beside its burrow.
Pochette looked at him, and at us, and at the river; and his meager little face with its pointed beard looked like a perturbed gnome if you ever saw one. "The leetle boat, she not stand for ze beeg load. The weend, she " "Aw, what yuh running a ferry for?" Frosty cut in impatiently. "There's a good, strong current on, to-day; she'll go across on a high run."
It was scared, poor devil, and it took all his strength on the bit to keep it from rearing and maybe upsetting the whole bunch. Pochette wasn't doing anything but lament, so I went back and unhooked King's horses for him, and took off the harness and threw it in the back of his wagon so they wouldn't tangle their feet in it when it came to a show-down.
Pochette gave a yell and relapsed into French that I'd hate to translate; it would shock even his own countrymen. The ferry ducked and bobbed, now there was nothing to hold its nose steady to the current, and went careering down river with all hands aboard and looking for trouble. We didn't do anything, though; there wasn't anything to do but stay right where we were and take chances.
The team wasn't a bit stuck on going, but Frosty knows how to handle horses, and they steadied when he went to their heads and talked to them. We were so busy with our own affairs that we didn't notice what was going on behind us till we heard Pochette declaiming bad profanity in a high soprano. Then I turned, and he was trying to stand off old King.
I think he rather prided himself upon his familiarity with the English language especially that part which is censored so severely by editors that only a half-dozen words are permitted to appear in cold type, and sometimes even they must hide their faces behind such flimsy veils as this: d n. So if I never quote Mr. Pochette verbatim, you'll know why.
"'A hurricane; bimeby by she blaw some more," I quoted bravely. "It's all right, Pochette; let her howl. We're going to cross, just the same. It isn't likely you'll have to make the trip for any body else to-day." I didn't mean to, but I looked over toward King, and caught the glint of his unfriendly eyes upon me. Also, the corners of his mouth hunched up for a second in what looked like a sneer.
"C'est bien vingt-quatre, madame," said the driver, as if to help her. "Oui ça va bien," she replied, but still hesitating. Esther had turned at sound of her voice just in time to see her gather her silver fox closer about her neck, clutch her red morocco pochette against her chest and enter the shop. The taxi, with a little "cling" of the meter, shot off down the hill.
"I theenk you will not wish for cross on the reever, no?" he began ingratiatingly. "The weend she blow lak , and my boat, she zat small, she ." I caught King looking at us from under his eyebrows, so I was airily indifferent to wind or water. "Sure, we want to cross," I said. "Just as soon as we finish our smoke, Pochette." "But, mon Dieu!"
It is true the sun shone, but I really wouldn't have been at all surprised if the wind had blown it out, 'most any time. Pochette himself looked worried when we trooped in to breakfast. He was a little skimpy man with crooked legs, a real French cut of beard, and an apologetic manner.
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