Harris Dickson

“ In single file the statesmen followed their host along a narrow path on top of the nearly submerged levee, until Colonel Clancy passed a clump of trees that obscured his view to the left. Abruptly he stopped and pointed, with the startled exclamation:
“Look! Look! Something's happened. Pardon me.” And, brushing past Miss Faison, the officer began to run.
For several moments his guests stood where he left them, gazing at a tugboat towing a barge. Nothing unusual in that. A more distant barge hugged the main line of levee. ”

“ Neither a lady in white nor a presidential possibility could distract their attention from that spout of water below. This water was bubbling up on the land side, at the base of the levee; and there every man rushed to drop his sack.
Nobody answered their questions about Mr. Grimshaw, so Jessica and Senator Rutherford scanned each face in the file of passing sack bearers; they peered over the gunwale of the barge at every white man who was shoveling sand into the bags. Furlong was not there. Together they turned to see if he might be among those amphibious creatures at the base of the levee. ”

“ Neither did anybody else. Fighting off the Mississippi River does not encourage idle gossip. For a while the other men wondered why this heir to millions should go splashing around in mud a little deeper than they, who had their bread to earn. But Grimshaw did splash around, most effectively, and had built a thumping good levee.
Against every difficulty and obstacle there stood his embankment. He could look through the window and see it, cleaving the forest like the swath of some gigantic reaper. Grimshaw's work was done. ”

“ Such trivialities failed to sidetrack the single-minded Jessica. With perfect composure she turned to Senator Rutherford, who had come up, sweating and breathing hard.
“Senator,” she urged him, “you must get hold of Furlong at once. He may need a little time to pack.”
“Yes.” Rutherford mopped off the sweat. “But where can I find him?”
“Ask one of these men.”
There were plenty of men to ask, men rushing in every direction, white men and black men, crowding on to the barge which lay moored against the levee, and hurrying off again, each with his sack of dirt upon his shoulder. ”

“ No human creature remained. Beyond the camp she saw a barge lying beside the levee, with men filing on and filing off again, like a string of ants, each carrying a bag upon his shoulder. They seemed to be in a frenzy. Why were these people so hysterical? The levee wasn't breaking. It stood eight feet above the flood, and felt solid as a rock beneath her feet. What could be wrong? And where was Furlong? Jessica sprinted forward and overtook Clancy, just as the colonel caught a laborer by his arm and asked: “What's the trouble?” ”

“ While Miss Faison realized the absurdity of Furlong B. Grimshaw, Jr., dabbling in this messy mud, yet she felt a thrill to see how blindly men obeyed him. Human authority could not be more despotic.
Suddenly everybody stopped. No man spoke. Workers halted in their tracks, listening to a sputter and choking of the geyser. ”

“ Rutherford couldn't leave the daughter of so important a constituent as Joshua K. Faison. He turned and went running through the cabin. Along the carpeted floor to stateroom No. 5, a presidential possibility left his trail of muddy tracks, grabbed a suit case, toilet articles, pajamas, trousers, and dry shoes. Rushing back with both arms full, he spilled socks and toothbrushes and razor strops; he stumbled down the stairway, and leaped onto the levee beside Jessica's trunk. There the steamer left him.
It never pays a presidential possibility to get riled. ”

“ Like a terrier scratching for rats the girl burrowed into her trunk, throwing out lingerie and fripperies behind her, until she dug up a pair of riding breeches, strong boots, and a shirt.
“There! That's all I need.” She had abandoned her rifled trunk and started toward the main levee, when Elvira's voice warned her from within the shanty boat:
“Better not leave sech a scatteration o' yo' things,” and Jessica recognized the same girl that she had noticed when their steamer first tied up.
“Thank you. They'll be safe,” she answered. ”

“ At his sincere tribute the girl laughed genuinely, resting on her shovel to confide: “We came on the commission steamer. I live in New York. I'm Jessica.”
“Jessica. Jessica.” He pronounced the syllables most exquisitely. “'In such a night did pretty Jessica——' Yes, yes, dear, the name suits you well. And you live in New York? People are so kind. Every stranger helps us during the high water.” ”

“ It's a comfortable old place, and if this levee breaks we will be washed away.”
“This levee isn't going to break. We won't let it.”
In her wrath at Furlong, Jessica felt that she must do something; and she'd found her job, got interested in the old man, and stuffed bag after bag like Christmas stockings. When people were fighting to hold their levees such incongruous things happened that nobody noticed the stranger girl in white, handling her shovel like a man. Her gloves, thrown aside, were trampled in the sand. ”

“ When the drenched engineer waded out, Senator Rutherford maneuvered into position on his right flank, just as one of the sack bearers fell and dropped a bag. The man must have hurt himself against a stump, for he rolled over and did not rise.
“Pick up that bag!” Furlong gave the nearest man a shove. This bystander happened to be Senator Rutherford, who expected no violence to his person, when Furlong's powerful impetus sent him toppling into waist-deep water. Senators are not immune, and the engineer never glanced at his face as he repeated: “Pick that up! ”

“ All right, senator.” He roused the sleeper. 'We are ready.”
Through the mists of early morning two shadowy brown figures walked side by side along the crest of the levee at Boggy Bayou. They seemed to be men. Both wore breeches. Both were muddy, and happy. They were leaving the barge and the sack bearers behind. Ahead of them, somewhere in the gloom, an automobile kept honking. At their heels limped a presidential possibility with his gripsack.
“Here's our car, senator.” Furlong helped Rutherford into the auto, keeping Jessica beside him to the very last. ”

“ Dry dust blew into her face; black mud spattered the whiteness of her shoes, and sweaty smells offended the universe. The sun roasted Jessica outside, and she boiled within, furious at Furlong. That puttering old chap kept spilling sand on the floor until she couldn't keep her hands
“Allow me.” Jessica spoke peremptorily and caught the sack. “I'll hold this bag myself.”
“Oh. Thank you. I am very grateful.”
The courtly voice surprised her; it was so gentle, so deliciously modulated by soft inflections of the Southern speech. His slender fingers were rubbed raw with blisters ”

“ She passed a grimy hand across her face, and Mr. Brookfield smiled at the smudge.
“Never mind a little dirt,” he said. “My daughters are coming presently to bring coffee for these men. You shall go home with us to wash your face and have dinner. ”