The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-10-16

SuliouS, tdIhlIS dUOut SOuL lAiScIdUlC l plantation. Can't you see that I am just bursting to tell somebody, any body, about my shipwreckT' He smiled. It was the first time in l weeks. And he smiled, not so much at what she said, as at the way she said 1.-the whimsical expression on her face, the laughter in her eyes, and the several tiny lines of humor that drew l in at the corners. He was curfously wondering as to what her age was, as he said aloud. "Yes, tell me, please" That I will not-not now," she re- torted, with a toss of the head. "1'n find somebody to tell my story to who does not have to be asked. Also, want information. I managed to find out what time to ring the bell to turn the hands to. And that is about all don't understand the ridiculous speech of your people. What time do they knock off?'' "At 11-go on again at 1.''
 ''That will do, thank you. And now, where do you keep the key to the provisions? I want to feed my men"
 Your men" he gasped. "On timed goods! No, no. Let them go out and eat with my boys" Her eyes flashed as on the day be- fore, and he saw again the imperative expression on her face.
 'That won't. My men are men. I've been out to your miserable bar racks and watched them eat. Faugh! Potatoes. Nothing but potatoes. No salt. Nothing. Only potatoes. may have been mistaken, but I thought understood them to say that that was all they ever got to eat. Two meals a day and every day in the week. He nodded Well, my men wouldn't stand for that a single day, much less a whole week. Where is the key?" Hanging on that clothes hook under the clock.''
 He gave in easily enough, but as she was reaching down the key she heard him say: <- Fancy niggers and timed provi- sions."
 This time she really was angry. The blood was in her checks as she turned on him.
 My men are not niggers. The sooner you understand that the better for our acquaintance. AS for the timed goods, I'll pay for all they eat. Please don't worry about that. Worry is not good for you in your condition. And I won't stay any longer than I have to-just' long enough to get you on your feet and not go away with the feeling of having deserted a white man."
 You're American, aren't you?' he asked quietly.
 The question disconcerted her for the moment.
 "Yes," she vouchsafed, with a defi- ant look. "Why?"
 Nothing. I merely thought so."
 Anything further?''
 He shook his head.
 "Why?" he asked.
 "Oh, nothing. thought you might have something pleasant to say"
 My name is Sheldon, David Shel- don," he said, with direct relevance, holding out thin hand.
 Her hand started out impulsively, then checked.
 My name is Lackland, Joan Lack land" The hand went out. And let us be friends"
 'It could not be otherwise"- he be- gah lamely.
 And I can feed my men all the timed goods want?'' she rushed on.
 "Till the cows come home," he an- swered, attempting her own lightness, then adding, that is, to Berande. You see we don't have any cows at Be rande."
 She fixed him coldly with her eyes
 ''Is that joker" she demanded.
 "I really don't know-I-I thought it was, but then, you see, I'm sick.''
 "You're English, aren't you?' was her next query.
 ''Now that's too much, even for sick man," he cried. "You know well enough that I am."
 "Oh," she said absently. "Then you are?"
 He frowned, frightened his lips, then burst into laughter, in which she join ed.
 'It's my own fault,s' he confessed. "I shouldn't have baited you. I'll be careful in the future"
 ''In the meantime go on laughing and I'll see about breakfast. Is there anything you would fancyY'
 He shook his head.
 "It will do you good to eat some thing. Your fever has burned out and you are merely weak. Wait mo- ment''
 She hurried out of the room in the direction of the kitchen, ripped at the door in a pair of sandals several times too large for her feet and disappeared in rosy confusion.
 By love, those are my sandals" he thought to himself 'The girl hasn't q thing to wear except what she land- ed on the beach. in and she certainly landed in sea boots."
 CHAPTER V.
 SHE WOULD A PLANTER BE. ~ HELDON mended rapidly. The > fever had burned out, and o there was nothing for him to
 do but gather strength Joan