The idea was attractive, for she did not feel like sleep. It would be fine to sit out in the open, watch the moon and the stars, the mysterious banks gliding swiftly by, and new vistas always widening out ahead. But not with this puny, sandy little "river character," not with anybody that night. "No," replied she. "I think I'll go to bed."
She had hesitated—and that was enough to give him encouragement. "Now, do come," he urged. "You don't know how nice it is. And they say I'm mighty good company."
"No, thanks." Susan nodded a pleasant dismissal.
The clerk lingered. "Can't I help you in some way? Wouldn't you like me to get you something?"
"No—nothing."
"Going to visit in Cincinnati? I know the town from A to Izzard. It's a lot of fun over the Rhine. I've had mighty good times there—the kind a pretty, lively girl like you would take to."
"When do we get to Cincinnati?"
"About eight—maybe half-past seven. Depends on the landings we have to make, and the freight."
"Then I'll not have much time for sleep," said Susan. "Good night." And no more realizing the coldness of her manner than the reason for his hanging about, she faced him, hand on the door to close it.
"You ain't a bit friendly," wheedled he.