eaving the load of fruit behind as
madame's pay. Thus did he eat, and his clients were many, and never
too tired or too cross to cook his meals and get their pay in baskets
of fruit.

One day he slipped in at Madame Garcia's kitchen door with such a
woe-begone air, and slid a small sack of nearly ripe plantains on the
table with such a misery-laden sigh, that madame, who was fat and
excitable, threw up both hands and cried out:

"Mon Dieu, Mistare Baptiste, fo' w'y you look lak dat? What ees de
mattare?"

For answer, Mr. Baptiste shook his head gloomily and sighed again.
Madame Garcia moved heavily about the kitchen, putting the plantains in
a cool spot and punctuating her foot-steps with sundry "Mon Dieux" and
"Miseres."

"Dose cotton!" ejaculated Mr. Baptiste, at last.

"Ah, mon Dieu!" groaned Madame Garcia, rolling her eyes heavenwards.

"Hit will drive de fruit away!" he continued.

"Misere!" said Madame Garcia

"Hit will."

"Oui, out," said Madame Garcia. She had carefully inspected the
plantains, and seeing that they were good and wholesome, was inclined
to agree with anything Mr. Baptiste said.

He grew excited. "Yaas, dose cotton-yardmans, dose 'longsho'mans, dey
go out on one strik'. Dey t'row down dey tool an' say dey work no mo'
wid niggers. Les veseaux, dey lay in de river, no work, no cargo,
yaas. Den de fruit ship, dey can' mak' lan', de mans, dey t'reaten an'
say t'ings. Dey mak' big fight, yaas. Dere no mo' work on de levee,
lak dat. Ever'body jus' walk roun' an' say cuss word, yaas!"

"Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" groaned Madame Garcia, rocking her
guinea-blue-clad self to and fro.

Mr. Baptiste picked up his nondescript head-cover and walked out
through the brick-reddened alley, talking excitedly to himself. Madame
Garcia called after him to know if he did not want his luncheon, but he
shook his head and passed on.

Down on the levee it was even as Mr. Baptiste had said. The
'long-shoremen, the cotton-yardmen, and the stevedores had gone out on
a strike. The levee lay hot and unsheltered under the glare of a
noonday sun. The turgid Mississippi scarce seemed to flow, but gave
forth a brazen gleam from its yellow bosom. Great vessels lay against
the wharf, silent and unpopulated. Excited groups of men clustered
here and there among bales of uncompressed cotton, lying about in
disorderly profusion. Cargoes of molasses and sugar gave out a sticky
sweet smell, and now and then