He caught the words: "He did! Tump did! The jailer did! 'Fo' God! black
man, whut's Cissie doin'?"
Overtones of shock, even of horror, in the two voices brought Peter wide
awake the moment he opened his eyes. He sat up suddenly in his bed,
remained perfectly still, listening with his mouth open. The voices,
however, were passing. The words became indistinct, then relapsed into
that bubbling monotone of human voices at a distance, and presently
ceased.
These fragmentary phrases, however, feathered with consternation, filled
Peter with vague premonitions. He whirled his legs out of bed and began
drawing on his clothes. When he was up and into the crescent, however,
nobody was in sight. He stood breathing the chill, damp air, blinking
his eyes. Lack of his cold bath made him feel chilly and lethargic. He
wriggled his shoulders and considered going back, after all, and having
his splash. Just then he saw the Persimmon coming around the crescent.
Peter called to the roustabout and asked about Tump Pack.
The Persimmon looked at Peter with his half-asleep, protruding eyeballs.
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