La Barge made no reply. He stopped as usual at St. Charles and then went on his way. Presently they came to another village.
“What place, Captain?” inquired the Englishman.
“Washington, Mo., sir.”
“Wrong again. The map gives this place as ——.”
This experience was gone through several times, the Captain’s temper becoming more ruffled with each repetition, though no one would have suspected it from his unruffled exterior. Presently a flock of wild geese passed over the river and drew the attention of the passengers and crew. The Englishmen were standing on the hurricane roof immediately in front of the pilot-house.
“What kind of birds are those, Captain?” asked one of them in eager haste.
The Captain, whose language still smacked somewhat of the French idiom, replied:
“Look at your map; he tell you.”
The printed programme of the evening at the theater happened to have this story under the heading of “Old Joe La Barge.” The Captain and some friends occupied a box, and as there were several persons in the audience who knew him, the fact that the hero of the story was in the box soon spread itself about. At one of the pauses in the performance someone called out for La Barge to stand up, and cries of “La Barge” soon came from all parts of the house. The modest steamboat pilot was panic-stricken at the occurrence and clung desperately to his seat, whereupon the audience called for him the more; but nothing would induce him to stir.
AN EXTENSIVE ACQUAINTANCE.