Horatio shook himself and sniffed angrily. A wide gang plank was now being lowered from the boat, and as it touched the bank the boy stepped quickly aboard, followed by the wet, shambling Bear.
"Oh, there was an Old Bear on a dark, dark night,
Who tried to walk on a beam of light,"
sang Bo, as he crossed the plank,
"But the beam wouldn't hold and the Bear broke through,
And now Horatio follows, as Horatio ought to do."
"Hello!" called a voice. "Where did you come from?"
Bo looked up and saw a brawny man with a group of wondering negroes behind him.
"We are travelling," said Bo, "and we want to go down the river. We can pay our way and will make music for you, too."
"Good boy," said the mate. "Go right up and report to the clerk, then come back down here, and after we get this wood loaded we'll give you some supper and you can give us a show."
On the upper deck the few passengers gathered around and made much of the arrivals. All asked questions at once, and Bo answered as best he could. Horatio kept silent—he never talked except when he was alone with Bo. The boy kept his hand on the Bear's head, and when the boat backed away and puffed down stream he felt his big friend tremble, but a little later, when they had had a good supper, Ratio's fear passed off, and on the lower deck, where all hands collected, the friends gave an entertainment that not only won for them free passage down the river, but a good collection besides. It was far in the night when the performance ended. The officers, passengers and crew kept calling for more, and the travellers were anxious to accommodate them. The negroes went wild over the music, and patted and danced crazily whenever Horatio played. Finally Bo sang a good night song:—