"Charles, he practically laid down his life for the people. The constant work in all kinds of weather, mud and filth, living on insufficient food, has left him broken and with a miserable cough. Yet as much in need as he was, he worked heroically on, scarcely giving thought to himself. He was not attacked by the fever, but ruined his constitution by nursing those who did have it."
Then the doctor launched more specifically into the affair as related to Nance by the steamboat captain. When he had completed the story and they were leaving, Nance looked up at me with glistening, tearful, yet happy eyes, adding:
"They gave Monsieur Picot the sobriquet of 'the Little Abbé of the Church of the Street.'"
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"LITTLE SAINT JACQUES OF THE STREET"
In the old days, you will remember, the Beau Brummel of a Southern steamboat was the captain. He was the pink of courtesy and gallantry, with all the pride of the gentleman of his day. The passengers were received into his cabin with the same hospitality he would have welcomed them ashore in his home. It was a distinction sought after, to eat at the table over which he presided. The lady to whom he offered his arm when dinner was announced was envied by the less fortunate, who must of necessity be content with the company of a less attractive escort.
Thus this master of the Ohio and Mississippi sidewheelers of forty or fifty years ago was to men, either at poker or in business, the soul of honor; to the young bucks the good fellow and manly; and, with apologies to St. Paul, all things to all women.... Such an officer of the old school was Sam L. Mead of the Spreading Eagle, who, while showing Nance first honors when upon her trip on his boat, told her of his experiences when quarantined by yellow fever.