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"I wonder if there are alligators in it?" asked Betty, of one of the pickers. "Not around here," he answered. "You have to go into the bayous, or swamps, for them critters. Don't yo'all worry 'bout the 'gators." "We won't when we get in the Gem," said Betty. "I wonder when they will bring her up and launch her?" "Let's go to the depot and find out," suggested Amy.
"That there was him learnin' not to pick nice, deep, soft sand for a landin'," Bland explained equably, glancing up to where Johnny was painting a somewhat wobbly B. "He ain't done it lately, bo." "Lemme up there, Skyrider, and see what it is yo'all are paintin' on," Bud pleaded. "If it's po'try, maybe I can sing it." Johnny relaxed into a grin, but he did not answer the jibe.
W'at time does yo'all wan' breakfas' in de mornin'? An' wen Massa Miles wen' no'th to mak' his fo'tune, he told Bob, 'Bob, I'se leavin' dis heah hous' in youah keer. An', Miss 'Chanda, we done look aftah Pirate's Haven evah since, mah gran'pappy, mah pappy, Sam an' me." Ricky held out her hand. "I'm sorry, Lucy. You see, we don't understand very well, we've been away so long."
"Ah beg yo' pardon, Brer Rabbit, but Ah don' seem to have it quite right in mah haid what yo'all am going down to the Laughing Brook for," said Unc' Billy in the politest way. Peter chuckled in spite of himself, as he once more replied: "It's to keep me from going crazy." Then Peter told Unc' Billy all about Sammy Jay's troubles and all about the troubles of Sticky-toes the Tree Toad.
Mah gran' pappy Bob was own man to Massa Miles Ralestone. He fit in de wah longside o' Massa Miles. An' wen de wah was done finish'd, dem two com' home to-gethah. Den Massa Miles, he call mah gran'pappy in an' say, 'Bob, yo'all is free an' I'se a ruinated man.
Was dis boy big like yo'all, wi' black hair an' a thin face?" "Yes." "Dat's de Jeems boy. He ain't got no mammy nor pappy. He lives jest like de wil' man wi' a li'l huntin' an' a big lot stealin'. He talk big. Say he belongs in de big house, not wi' swamp folks. But jest yo'all pay no 'tenshun to him nohow." "Val! Val Ralestone! Where are you?" Ricky's voice sounded clear through the morning air.
That is, Ricky was eating, but Rupert was reading his morning mail. "Yo'all sits down," said Lucy firmly, "an' yo'all eats what's on youah plate. Yo'all ain' much fattah nor a jay-bird." "I don't see why she keeps comparing me to a living skeleton all the time," Val complained as she departed kitchenward.
Whipple was still looking from the front windows of her apartment, to see what all the excitement was about, stole out of a door into the side hall and so reached the elevators. "Down, George!" called Laddie to the colored elevator man. "Down it am, Master Laddie," was the good-natured answer. "Where is yo'all gwine?" "To see the fire," was the answer.
"That smells good to me; I haven't had a bite since last night!" The woman dropped her pan and came to the door. A lank and lean Pike County Missourian rose from the shadows and advanced. "Light and rest yo' hat, Mr. Orde!" he called before he came well into view. "But yo' already lighted, and you ain't go no hat!" he cried in puzzled tones. "Whar yo'all from?"
"Keep away, w'ite man, or I'll do yo'all hurt!" Trask walked straight for the steward, who pulled out a pistol. "My gun!" cried Trask, stopping. Marjorie uttered a cry of dismay as she saw the steward raise his hand. "I can shoot," warned Doc. "Come on! Come on!" he yelled, waving his hand to the dinghy. "I got 'em!"
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