Mrs. Mahna and her family. He knew Mrs. Mahna, who had befriended him in his poverty days.
"I'll shine up to Mrs. Mahna, and let on I'm somebody, an' can take cyar of myself," he decided. "I won't act like I care a whoop about that gal. Likely Delia'll be kinda skittish and offish till she gits to know what kind of a feller I am. I'm all right; all I eveh needed was some clothes an' a bit of slickin' up. I'll stop in to one of them plantation commissaries and buy some clothes and fixings. A feller's kinda got to dress up, tell he gets hitched up to one of them proud an' high-steppin' ladies."
As good as his thoughts, he lavished eighteen dollars on hat, shoes, clothes, and shirts. Every cent he spent seemed to wrench his soul, which was not yet tuned to his affluence. As he had known, he was not so bad looking when he was dressed up. All he ever had needed were a few good clothes.
Thus he was prepared for what a shantyboater told him was the mooring place of the Mahnas and some other boats, up in the bend above Fort Pillow Bluffs, about a mile or so below Yankee Bar.
Sure enough, there were other boats along the eddy—nearly a dozen of them. A shantyboat town had formed there—one of those ephemeral little floating settlements where is made so much of the river traditions. Macrado was disappointed. He
