you know 'bout Tump Pack already, Mister Siner?"

"No." Peter was astonished at the formality of the "Mr. Siner."

"Then is you 'spectin' somp'n 'bout him?"

"Why, no, but I was asleep in there a moment ago, and somebody came
along talking about Tump and Cissie. They--they aren't married, are
they?"

"Oh, no-o, no-o-o, no-o-o-o-o." The Persimmon waggled his bullet head
slowly from side to side. "I heared Tump got into a lil trouble wid de
jailer las' night."

"Serious?"

"I dunno." The Persimmon closed one of his protruding yellow eyes.
"Owin' to whut you call se'ius; maybe whut I call se'ius wouldn't be
se'ius to you at all; 'n 'en maybe whut you call se'ius would be ve'y
insince'ius to Tump." The roustabout's philosophy, which consisted in a
monotonous recasting of a given proposition, trickled on and on in the
cold wind. After a while it fizzled out to nothing at all, and the
Persimmon asked in a queer manner: "Did you give Tump some women's
clo'es, Peter?"

It was such an odd question that at first Peter was at loss; then he
recalled Nan Berry's despatching Cissie some underwear. He explained
this to the Persimmon, and tacked on a curious, "Why?"

"Oh, nothin'; nothin' 'tall. Ever'body say you a mighty long-haided
nigger. Jim Pink he tell us 'bout Tump Pack marchin' you 'roun' wid a
gun. I sho don' want you ever git mad at me, Mister Siner. Man wid a gun
an' you turn yo' long haid on him an' blow him away wid a wad o' women's
clo'es. I sho don' want you ever cross yo' fingers at me, Mister Siner."

Peter stared at the grotesque, bullet-headed roustabout. "Persimmon," he
said uneasily, "what in the world are you talking about?"

The Persimmon smiled a sickly, white-toothed smile. "Jim Pink say yo'
aidjucation is a flivver. I say, 'Jim Pink, no nigger don' go off an'
study fo' yeahs in college whut 'n he comes back an' kin throw some kin'
uv a hoodoo over us fool niggers whut ain't got no brains. Now, Tump wid
a gun, an' you wid jes ordina'y women's clo'es! 'Fo' Gawd, aidjucation
is a great thing; sho is a great thing." The Persimmon gave Peter an
apprehensive wink and moved on.

There was no use trying to extract information from the Persimmon unless
he was minded to give it. His talk would merely become vaguer and
vaguer. Peter watched him go, then turned and attempted to throw the
whole matter off his mind by assuming a certain brisk Northern mood. He
must pack, get ready for the down-river gasolene la