“Why, no,” answered she, puzzled.

“There was an old fellow named Shreve who ran steamboats before Jackson fought the redcoats at New Orleans.  In Shreve’s time the cabins were curtained off, just like these new-fangled sleeping-car berths.  The old man built wooden rooms, and he named them after the different states, Kentuck, and Illinois, and Pennsylvania.  So that when a fellow came aboard he’d say:  ‘What state am I in, Cap?’ And from this river has the name spread all over the world—­stateroom.  That’s mighty interesting,” said Captain Lige.

“Yea,” said Virginia; “why didn’t you tell me long ago.”

“And I’ll bet you can’t say,” the Captain continued, “why this house we’re standing on is called the texas.”

“Because it is annexed to the states,” she replied, quick a flash.

“Well, you’re bright,” said he.  “Old Tufts got that notion, when Texas came in.  Like to see Bill Jenks?”

“Of course,” said Virginia.

Bill Jenks was Captain Brent’s senior pilot.  His skin hung on his face in folds, like that of a rhinoceros It was very much the same color.  His grizzled hair was all lengths, like a worn-out mop; his hand reminded one of an eagle’s claw, and his teeth were a pine yellow.  He greeted only such people as he deemed worthy of notice, but he had held Virginia in his arms.

“William,” said the young lady, roguishly, “how is the eye, location, and memory?”

William abandoned himself to a laugh.  When this happened it was put in the Juanita’s log.

“So the Cap’n be still harpin’ on that?” he said, “Miss Jinny, he’s just plumb crazy on a pilot’s qualifications.”

“He says that you are the best pilot on the river, but I don’t believe it,” said Virginia.

William cackled again.  He made a place for her on the leather-padded seat at the back of the pilot house, where for a long time she sat staring at the flag trembling on the jackstaff between the great sombre pipes.  The sun fell down, but his light lingered in the air above as the big boat forged abreast the foreign city of South St. Louis.  There was the arsenal—­grim despite its dress of green, where Clarence was confined alone.

Captain Lige came in from his duties below.  “Well, Jinny, we’ll soon be at home,” he said.  “We’ve made a quick trip against the rains.”

“And—­and do you think the city is safe?”

“Safe!” he cried.  “As safe as London!” He checked himself.  “Jinny, would you like to blow the whistle?”

“I should just love to,” said Virginia.  And following Mr. Jenks’s directions she put her toe on the tread, and shrank back when the monster responded with a snort and a roar.  River men along the levee heard that signal and laughed.  The joke was certainly not on sturdy Elijah Brent.