Pretty soon the big fat man stuck his head out of the window and he shouted, “What’s the matter, is everybody deaf around here? Here, you boys, where’s the bridgeman?” Honest, you’d think I had the bridgeman in my pocket. I told him I didn’t know where the bridgeman was. Oh, but he looked mad. He had an awful red face and white whiskers and I guess he must have been used to ordering people around—anyway, he looked that way. He said, “Here I am on the down tide, the water going out every minute and got to run up to North Bridgeboro yet. It’s a ——” he said what kind of an outrage it was, but I wouldn’t tell you. Oh, he was hopping mad. “I’ll get stuck hard and fast in the consarned mud,” he said, “if I ain’t back and past this here Sleepy Hollow in forty minutes—that’s what I will!” I hollered up to him that I’d row across to Jimmy’s house and see if he was asleep. “_Asleep!_” that’s just the way he shouted. “Do bridgeman sleep on full tide up this way? Don’t he know the harbor and waterway laws? I’ll make it hot for ’im—I will.” And then he began pulling the whistle faster and faster. “Somebody must have been feeding him meat,” Westy whispered to me. “He’s good and mad, that’s sure,” I said. Even while we rowed across to Jimmy’s shanty I could hear him shouting between the whistlings and saying he’d have the bridgeman up for deserting on flood tide and putting him in the mud. And jiminy, I have to admit that he was up against it, because the tide was running down and by the time he got up to North Bridgeboro and back, it would maybe be too low in the channel. One thing, Jimmy had a right to be there, especially at flood tide, I knew that. But I guess the reason he wasn’t was because nothing but little motor boats ever came up our river and they can always crawl under. Jimmy lives all by himself on account of being old and his people are all dead. I said to Westy that maybe he was just asleep, so we knocked and knocked, but nobody came to the door. Then I knew he wasn’t there at all or else maybe he was dead. “Anyway, we’d better find out,” I said, “because it’s mighty funny him not being there, seeing that he never goes away anywhere.” All the time we could hear that old grouch shouting about Bridgeboro and our river and saying it was Sleepy Hollow and Dopeville, and the river was a mud hole. But it isn’t and don’t you believe it. “Anyway, I’m going to climb in through the shed window,” I said, “and see if maybe Jimmy is sick or dead.” I could see that Pee-wee was—not exactly scared but sort of anxious, and I was too, I have to admit it.