“What’s yours?”
“None of your business,” Uncle Marvin shouted. “Get that raft away from here.”
The houseboat began to beach. Graham dropped the pole on the deck and ran and jumped on the mud flat. He called to somebody inside while he was pulling the rope out of the water.
The stern swung around in the backwash of the current, and Jim grabbed my arm and pointed at the dim lettering on the boat. It said Mary Jane , and under that was St. Louis.
While we stood watching the man pull in the rope, two girls came out on the deck and looked at us. They were very young. Neither of them looked to be over eighteen or nineteen. When they saw Uncle Marvin, they waved at him and began picking up the boxes and bundles to carry off.
“You can’t land that shantyboat on this island,” Uncle Marvin said threateningly. “It won’t do you no good to unload that stuff, because you’ll only have to carry it all back again. No shantyboat’s going to tie up on this island.”
One of the girls leaned over the rail and looked at Uncle Marvin.
“Do you own this island, Captain?” she asked him.
Uncle Marvin was no river captain. He did not even look like one. He was the kind of man you could see plowing cotton on the steep hillsides beyond Reelfoot Lake. Uncle Marvin glanced at Jim and me for a moment, kicking at a gnarled root on the ground, and looked at the girl again.
“No,” he said, pretending to be angry with her. “I don’t own it, and I wouldn’t claim ownership of anything on the Mississippi, this side of the bluffs.”
The other girl came to the rail and leaned over, smiling at Uncle Marvin.
“Hiding out, Captain?” she asked.
Uncle Marvin acted as though he would have had something to say to her if Jim and I had not been there to overhear him. He shook his head at the girl.
Graham began carrying off the boxes and bundles. Both Jim and I wished to help him so we would have a chance to go on board the houseboat, but we knew Uncle Marvin would never let us do that. The boat had been beached on the mud flat, and Graham had tied it up, knotting the rope around a young cypress tree.
When he had finished, he came over to us and held out his hand to Uncle Marvin. Uncle Marvin looked at Graham’s hand, but he would not shake with him.
“My name’s Harry Graham,” he said. “I’m from up the river at Caruthersville. What’s your name?”
“Hutchins,” Uncle Marvin said, looking him straight in the eyes, “and I ain’t hiding out.”
The two girls, the dark one and the light one, were carrying their stuff across the island to the other side where the slough was. The island was only two or three hundred feet wide, but it was nearly half a mile long. It had been a sandbar to begin with, but it was already crowded with trees and bushes. The Mississippi was on the western side, and on the eastern side there was a slough that looked bottomless. The bluffs of the Tennessee shore were only half a mile in that direction.
“We’re just on a little trip over the week end,” Graham said. “The girls thought they would like to come down the river and camp out on an island for a couple of days.”
“Which one is your wife?” Uncle Marvin asked him.
Graham looked at Uncle Marvin a little surprised for a minute. After that he laughed a little, and began kicking the ground with the toe of his shoe.
“I didn’t quite catch what you said,” he told Uncle Marvin.
“I said, which one is your wife?”
‘Well, to tell the truth, neither of them. They’re just good friends of mine, and we thought it would be a nice trip down the river and back for a couple of days. That’s how it is.”
“They’re old enough to get married,” Uncle Marvin told him, nodding at the girls.
“Maybe so,” Graham said. “Come on over and I’ll introduce you to them. They’re Evansville girls, both of them. I used to work in Indiana, and I met them up there. That’s where I got this houseboat, I already had the
“None of your business,” Uncle Marvin shouted. “Get that raft away from here.”
The houseboat began to beach. Graham dropped the pole on the deck and ran and jumped on the mud flat. He called to somebody inside while he was pulling the rope out of the water.
The stern swung around in the backwash of the current, and Jim grabbed my arm and pointed at the dim lettering on the boat. It said Mary Jane , and under that was St. Louis.
While we stood watching the man pull in the rope, two girls came out on the deck and looked at us. They were very young. Neither of them looked to be over eighteen or nineteen. When they saw Uncle Marvin, they waved at him and began picking up the boxes and bundles to carry off.
“You can’t land that shantyboat on this island,” Uncle Marvin said threateningly. “It won’t do you no good to unload that stuff, because you’ll only have to carry it all back again. No shantyboat’s going to tie up on this island.”
One of the girls leaned over the rail and looked at Uncle Marvin.
“Do you own this island, Captain?” she asked him.
Uncle Marvin was no river captain. He did not even look like one. He was the kind of man you could see plowing cotton on the steep hillsides beyond Reelfoot Lake. Uncle Marvin glanced at Jim and me for a moment, kicking at a gnarled root on the ground, and looked at the girl again.
“No,” he said, pretending to be angry with her. “I don’t own it, and I wouldn’t claim ownership of anything on the Mississippi, this side of the bluffs.”
The other girl came to the rail and leaned over, smiling at Uncle Marvin.
“Hiding out, Captain?” she asked.
Uncle Marvin acted as though he would have had something to say to her if Jim and I had not been there to overhear him. He shook his head at the girl.
Graham began carrying off the boxes and bundles. Both Jim and I wished to help him so we would have a chance to go on board the houseboat, but we knew Uncle Marvin would never let us do that. The boat had been beached on the mud flat, and Graham had tied it up, knotting the rope around a young cypress tree.
When he had finished, he came over to us and held out his hand to Uncle Marvin. Uncle Marvin looked at Graham’s hand, but he would not shake with him.
“My name’s Harry Graham,” he said. “I’m from up the river at Caruthersville. What’s your name?”
“Hutchins,” Uncle Marvin said, looking him straight in the eyes, “and I ain’t hiding out.”
The two girls, the dark one and the light one, were carrying their stuff across the island to the other side where the slough was. The island was only two or three hundred feet wide, but it was nearly half a mile long. It had been a sandbar to begin with, but it was already crowded with trees and bushes. The Mississippi was on the western side, and on the eastern side there was a slough that looked bottomless. The bluffs of the Tennessee shore were only half a mile in that direction.
“We’re just on a little trip over the week end,” Graham said. “The girls thought they would like to come down the river and camp out on an island for a couple of days.”
“Which one is your wife?” Uncle Marvin asked him.
Graham looked at Uncle Marvin a little surprised for a minute. After that he laughed a little, and began kicking the ground with the toe of his shoe.
“I didn’t quite catch what you said,” he told Uncle Marvin.
“I said, which one is your wife?”
‘Well, to tell the truth, neither of them. They’re just good friends of mine, and we thought it would be a nice trip down the river and back for a couple of days. That’s how it is.”
“They’re old enough to get married,” Uncle Marvin told him, nodding at the girls.
“Maybe so,” Graham said. “Come on over and I’ll introduce you to them. They’re Evansville girls, both of them. I used to work in Indiana, and I met them up there. That’s where I got this houseboat, I already had the
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