Virginia found the riverman seated before his house, in a chair shaped out of a barrel, and prevented from being mislaid by its permanent attachment to a post in the ground. His experienced eyes watched the surface of the river for signs of treasure trove awash. Upon the front of his residence, conveniently at hand, hung the pole with the iron hook, while, at the foot of a precipitous pathway, an old skiff bobbed, readily available to meet emergencies of the deep.
The arrival of the automobile startled Mr. Quince. To this aquatic man, a boat upon the river offered the more agreeable pathway to his home. He arose nervously, as one suspecting ejectment proceedings. The wind blew his patched overalls and flannel shirt about his tall, thin figure.
Ike, bowing respectfully, spoke words of greeting. “Howdy, Bill.”
“Howdy,” returned the mariner, calmed by the thought that it was not the custom of courts to rely upon such instrumentalities as negro chauffeurs and young maidens.
“We want to rent your boat for a picnic at Elgin’s Grove tomorrow,” called Virginia.
The tender of charter appeared to surprise Mr. Quince. He removed his ancient hat and scratched his scalp.
“Where is your boat?” Virginia looked about as if expecting to discover the Priscilla or Commonwealth at rest upon the bosom of Hog Creek.
The riverman pointed and the girl’s eyes followed his finger.
On the creek floated a monument to the ingenuity of Bill Quince. Contrary to accepted naval traditions, the Nancy Jane was in two parts. A rusty traction engine rested upon a decked scow almost square in form. It was geared by belt, chains and sprockets to a water wheel as wide as the scow and attached to its stern. This was the power plant, and, coupled to the front of it, was a second scow of like width but greater length. Decked over, railed, and covered by a wooden canopy, it furnished the passenger accommodations of the craft.
Such disappointment as Virginia felt was swept aside by the profound admiration of Ike for this vessel.