"I can jump off here most anywhere and find you a man that never heard of Julius Cæsar."

I preferred to remain silent under this rebuke, and he did not speak again until we had sheered off to the left of the split in the current, a snag, and then he said:

"Lige didn't weigh more than a hundred and sixty pounds at his best, and the boys used to say there wan't no meat on him at all, nothing but nerve. Game!" He cleared his throat, gave me a mere glance and continued: "It was said that a panther once met him in the woods, and gave vent to a most unearthly squall, which meant, 'excuse me, Mr. Patton,' and took to his heels and never was heard of in that section after that—the panther wan't—although he had been mighty popular among the pigs and sheep of that neighborhood. But Lige never killed many men. Never killed except when he was overpersuaded. Gave up a good position once and went all the way to Jackson to call the governor of Mississippi a liar. And what was that for? Why, the governor issued a thanksgiving proclamation in spite of the fact that the river had been low for three months, making it pretty tough work for the pilots; and Lige, he declared that a governor who said that the people ought to be thankful was a liar. And I've got a little more religion now than I had at that time, but blamed if I don't still think he was right. I spoke a while ago of Senator Talcom, who lives in my town. Well, sir, Lige give Talcom his start in the world. It was this way: Lige wan't altogether a lamb when he was drinking; he sorter looked for a fight, but, understand, he didn't want to kill anybody, unless overpersuaded. Talcom was a young fellow, at that time, and had just come to town. And, somehow, he got in Lige's way, and they fought. And if there ever was a man that had more wire than Lige, it was Talcom. It must have been some sort of an accident, but, somehow, he got the upper hand of Lige, got him down, got out his knife, and was about to cut his throat, when Lige said: 'Young fellow, you may put out my light as soon as you please, for you can do it, but there's one thing, and one thing only, that I'd like to live for, and that is to see what you are going to make of yourself.' Blamed if this didn't tickle Talcom, and he got up and flung his knife away. And, now to the point, sir; Lige went all around and told it that Talcom whipped him, and that was the making of Talcom. Now look at him—been in the State Senate year after year. Yes, sir," he added, "I reckon that in one way and another Lige Patton developed more men than anybody that ever struck this country."

CHAPTER II.

IN THE AIR.

At the noon hour my friend was relieved, and together we went down to dinner. Miss Hatch and Culpepper fell to whispering as soon as I sat down, opposite them. I knew that I was under a spiteful discussion, but, with the appearance of paying no heed to them, I remarked to the pilot, who sat beside me:

"You have often noticed, I suppose, that human nature by turns partakes of the nature of all other animals, particularly of the black cat and the yellow dog?"

"I don't know that I get you, exactly, but go ahead," he replied.

This afforded Miss Hatch and Culpepper an opportunity to titter. I did not look at them, but addressed myself to the pilot.

"I confess that my meaning might have been clearer, but behind it lies a sufficient cause for its utterance."

He put down his knife and looked at me helplessly, shook his head as if puzzled, and fell to eating with this not very comforting observation:

"Jerk me out of bed any time of night, along here, and I can tell you where I am, and I am pretty good at foreseeing a change in the channel, but once in a while I strike a thing that I can't figger out, and I reckon you've just handed me one."

Miss Hatch was now so occupied with feeding her dog that she had no time to titter at my discomfiture, but I caught sight of Culpepper's hateful and invidious smile.

The meal was finished in silence, and I thought that the pilot had forgotten my clouded remark, but when he had resumed his place at the wheel, he cut his sharp old eye at me and said:

"But there are a good many things I can see, and one of them is, that you and them other show folks don't get along together very well."

"It's their fault," I replied.

"Of course," he rejoined, giving me a mere glimpse of his old eye, and this time it was not merely shrewd—it was rascally.

"I have done my best to merit their friendship," I said, somewhat sharply. "But they spurn me, they insinuate that I am an elephant on the manager's hands, when you yourself have been kind enough to tell me that my part of the performance was—"

"Good, first-rate," he broke in. "But in the play you almost have a set of love jimjams on account of that woman, and let her reform you, and all that sort of thing. It beats me," he added, shaking his head. "I don't see how a man can love and cavort with a woman one minute, and hate her the next. I pass, when it comes to that."

"The stage is a strange world," I replied.

"Yes, seems so. Hard way to earn money, hugging someone you don't like. Why, I know a woman I wouldn't hug for a thousand dollars. You appear to be a man of fair average sense. Why don't you go into some other business—why don't you go to work?"

"Work!" I cried, and I laughed so loud that a half naked boy on the shore tossed up his hat and shouted a salute to my merriment.

With his face hard set, and with his eyes sweeping the river, he waited for my attention, and then he said: "Yes, work. Of course it's all right for idle and shiftless fellows to go around this way, but it strikes me—of course I don't know—but it strikes me that if you were to get down to it, you might make something of yourself. It would be all right if you could make a great actor out of yourself, for then it would be worth your while, but always to be an under dog in the fight—"

"You are not a flatterer," I broke in.

"Well, I don't flatter men very much. Flattery, like feathers and ribbons, was intended for women; but even they are getting too much sense to swallow it. Come to think about it, they don't look for it as much as men do."

We had turned a bend, and the pilot, pointing, directed my eye toward a town. "There's old Bolanyo," he said. "One of the best towns on the river, one way and another. I live there when I'm at home. And that's where Senator Talcom lives, and that's where he had his fight with Lige Patton. I'm going to hop off there to see my folks. House so plain up there is the new city hall—must have cost forty-five thousand. Can't see Talcom's house; it's off in the far edge of the town. It's almost a farm, and I reckon he's got the finest magnolia garden in this whole section. Old Bowie, father of the Bowie knife, fought a duel right over yonder. Got his man. Stevens is coming up to relieve me now in a minute. Coming now, I believe. Just step outside," he added, as his assistant appeared at the door, "and I'll show you the places of interest, and then trot down in time to hop off."

We stood near the pilot house, and, continuing to talk, he pointed out, with the finger of local pride, a number of buildings which he believed would be of interest to me, but his words fell without meaning. A lulling essence was exhaled by the town. A spirit of rest and contentment lay upon her lazy wharf. I heard the languid song of the indolent "white trash," and the happy-go-lucky haw-haw of the trifling negro. Through the lattice of a thin cloud the sun shot a glance, and the gilded plow on the courthouse dome stood at the end of a furrow of fire.

"Well, got to leave you."

He seized my hand, and at that moment I thought that I was jerked off my feet, high in the air, and then came a thunder clap so loud, so deafening that my senses were killed, conscious only that my body was a dead weight and that my mind had been