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"Comin' along, Slum," replied Carney, winking knowingly to let Tresler understand that the man's impatience was only a covering for his discomfiture at Shaky's hands. "I've done my best to pizen you this ten year. Guess Shaky's still pinin' fer the job o' nailin' a few planks around you. Here you are. More comin'." "Who's needin' me?" asked Shaky, looking up from his cards.
"I use' ter rock yer to sleep wid you kickin' yer heels an' doublin' yer fists, an' callin' me ole fool, an' I singin': "'Lil chile Dory, Shaky's lil lam', Mudder's gone to heaven, Shaky leff behime To care for lil chile Dory, Shaky's lil lam'. Doan' you 'member it, honey, an' doan' you member me? I'm Shaky, I is."
A part of what he wrote we give: "I have just come from an interview with a woman who is credited with knowing the history of the place forty years back, and I have no doubt that Shaky's Col. Crompton is living here in Crompton Place, the richest man in town and largest contributor to the church.
We're losin' blessed hours gassin'. I'm goin' fer a hand at 'draw. An' say, give us a new deck o' cards. Guess them o' Shaky's needs curry-combin' some. Mr. Tresler," he went on, turning to his old boarder, "mebbe I owe you some. Have you a notion?" "No thanks, Slum," replied Tresler, decidedly. "I'm getting an old hand now." "Ah!"
He gripped the outstretched hand heartily, while he took in his first impression of a strange personality. They were out on the verandah. The rancher was sitting in a prim, uncushioned armchair. He had a strong, well-moulded, pale face, the sightless eyes of which held the attention. Tresler at once appreciated Shaky's description of them. They were dreadful eyes.
With the first sound of the weird melody and the words "Lil chile Dory, Shaky's lil lam'," she leaned forward and seemed to be either listening intently or trying to recall something which came and went, and which she threw out her hands to retain.
The room was getting dark. It was a cheerless den. Tresler was thoughtfully smoking. He was digesting and sifting what he had heard; trying to separate fact from fiction in Shaky's story. He felt that there must be some exaggeration. At last he broke the silence, and all eyes were turned on him. "And do you mean to say there is no law to protect people on these outlying stations?
There were other faces round us dusky ones negroes, weren't they?" Her eyes compelled the Colonel to bow assent, and she continued, "I thought so, and our home was South; not a grand home like this, but a cabin, I think. Wasn't it a cabin?" Again the Colonel bowed, and Dora went on, "There came a day when it was full of people, and somebody was in a box, and I sat in Shaky's lap.
"Guess, mebbe, you're prejudiced some," suggested Carney, with an eye on his visitor. "Shaky's taken to book readin'," said Slum, gently. "Guess dime fiction gits a powerful holt on some folk." "Dime fiction y'rself," retorted Shaky, sullenly.
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