interrupted.

"Shucks! It ain't where a man comes from." The old fellow uncrossed his legs and crossed them again. "It's the man himself. That's fust what I was about to tell you. If a man's a good feller, then folks'll treat him like one; but if he comes down here with a lot of bottled-up notions from that there cold country of yours, they'll not have much use for him. And that's where you've got to be precious careful. I tell you right now, if you make a hit at the start, it won't take you long to win out. Go in for a good time, show 'em you're a good feller, and take my word for it, they'll think you're a heap smarter than if you spend your time tryin' to ram your book knowledge down their throats."

The young fellow remained silent, reflecting over the Captain's advice. Through its crudities, he was beginning to see and appreciate the viewpoint of one whom experience had made a reader of human nature.

"At first, go easy, and take things as they come; don't air your own opinions every chance you get; don't strut around like some young lawyers I see, with a long face, and a head full of—what d' you call that feller that wrote the big book?"

"Blackstone?"

"Yes, sir, that's the one. Don't always be talkin' about him and lookin' as independent as a wood-sawyer's clerk. You know exactly what I mean." The Captain tilted his chair to a more dangerous angle.

"If you'll make yourself one of 'em, you'll come out all right—I'll bet my bottom dollar on that! For you've got a way with you, as the sayin' goes, and that's the principal thing a feller needs in this world."

"The only trouble is," the young man answered, smiling broadly, "that I have got some old-fashioned principles, as you call them, and convictions, too."

"Damn your convictions." The Captain's chair came to the floor with a crash. "That's what ruins more men than anything else—convictions! I say if you've got 'em, keep 'em to yourself—don't let 'em out! Remember, you're goin' to a country where everything is wide open and you've got to be one of the boys—or you might just as well turn your head back to where you come from."

The young fellow laughed heartily. Edging his chair closer to the Captain, he watched the play of his features in the glow from his pipe. The thousand wrinkles about his eyes changed eloquently with the intenseness of his words. "Evidently you have decided that I am terribly solemn, Captain. But you are wrong," he said, still laughing easily. "I enjoy life, and a good time as much as anybody—perhaps more than most! Only I haven't taken that enjoyment in gambling and drinking, which you seem to think so necessary."

For answer, the old man's head shook doubtfully.

"Then you'd better give up being a lawyer down here," his grey eyes danced merrily. "Unless," his hands came together with a loud clap, "unless—you'd like to give 'em the idea you're a sport, and at the same time not be one. Gee whilligens!" he cried, laughing until the tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks. "That would be a fine set out. Listen, youngster, I'm going to tell you how to do it, and if you don't get 'em coming your way right from the jump, my name's not Benjamin Mentdrop. Now, first of all, when you land at Natchez, ride right up the hill to the Mansion House. You'll see a lot of fellers loafing 'round there to find who come on the boat—what you are and what's your business—you know the kind I mean; the sort whose business is finding out other people's. Then, there's always a lot of the bloods of the town there, too. Well, don't let 'em know you've even seen 'em. Just walk in and sign your name with a flourish, so," his hand swept the air, with a rather dangerous gesture for a pen. "Just as soon as you're through, you'll see 'em go up and read your name, and when they all are eyeing you, just walk over to the bar—so." Here the Captain got up and swaggered across the deck with a bravado that bespoke personal experience. "And order—plenty loud enough for the crowd to hear what you're sayin'—a bottle o' champagne and a box o' cigars sent up to your room. I tell you, sir," taking his seat again, "that'll make your reputation without any waiting."

The young fellow joined in the infectious laughter of the Captain. It was too natural a performance not to show that the old fellow was describing his own methods.

"I'm afraid that reputation would be one I'd never outlive," he said, when they had become serious again. "What do you suppose would become of my position as tutor in the family I'm going to?"

"Position-your-grandaddy! The thing is to make a hit; you don't have to live up to it," the Captain promptly rejoined. "All you want is to have the crowd see you know a thing or two and they'll take you up before you know it. And if you're going to be a lawyer, you want these fellows' cases, and I tell you right now, you've got to play 'em a bit. When you get as old as I am you'll see then how this whole blamed thing they call life is nothin' more'n less than a steady game of bluff—right straight through!"

The boat was swinging into a broad bend of the river when he finished, and through the clarity of the night, a long line of hills was coming into view on the eastern horizon. The long journey through banks of endless flat country was left behind and the sloping hills rose as if to extend a welcome to the voyagers.

"That's old Vick's plantation across the point," the Captain said, rising and stretching his arms above his head. "Looks like we're near there, don't it; but it'll be mornin' before we land." Looking at his large watch, its open face characteristic of its owner, he gave an exclamation of surprise and turning away hurried down the ladder to the lower deck.

"Don't forget what I've been telling you!" he called back as he disappeared. "I wa'n't born yesterday, nor the day before neither."

The young fellow walked forward when he was alone, and stood where he could see beneath him the prow of the boat pushing its way into the impenetrable blue of the broad stream. He had felt the influence of the river that night more than at any time during his voyage. Its immensity, its awfulness, gripped him with a new understanding of eternity. The endless legends it embodied rose before him; gorgeous pageants passed in review; into his vision came the long procession of pioneers who had set sail upon these waters; De Soto first, who slept now within its enveloping solitude, afterwards Joliet and Marquette, La Salle with his cross of conquest and his flag of France, the Spaniards from the Mexican Gulf clashing with the English out of the North, and always, coming first upon the river and still present in their silent, stealthy canoes, the real owners of its breadth and length—the Red Men. All these he saw pushing their way along and seeking their fortune, even as he was doing now.

His face was turned towards the south, the place to which his destiny was calling him; in it lay the mystery of his future. Far behind him was the land of his birth, which held the compelling force that was driving him on and on to that future, as relentlessly as the silent river was sweeping to the sea.

In an incident of his childhood lay this force which had made the severing of home ties less bitter and the setting out towards an unknown country the first step in the realization of years of determination. So filled with suffering was this incident that, after twelve years, it lived in his