“Dat’s er fine boat,” he exclaimed. “Ah done had ma good times on dat ole boat. When you gits out on de cool river on dat ship you feels like er fightin’ cock on er hot night.”
Ike’s reference to the cool river encouraged his mistress to continue negotiations. “Can we rent it?” she asked.
“You kin rent it if you want to. They hain’t no law again it,” the mariner agreed. “But I hain’t sure that she’s goin’ to move none.” His sporting blood was aroused. “I’ll bet two bits that old engine is a-rusted tight.”
Virginia desired certainty. “How am I going to find out if the boat will go?” she worried.
Approaching the car, Mr. Quince rested an elbow upon the edge of the door and a huge foot upon the running board. His thin jaw wagged incessantly and his eyes viewed the distant reaches of the river as he pensively ruminated upon the problem. At last a solution came to him. “We mought hist ’er over by hand,” he told Ike.
“Do what?” the girl inquired anxiously, puzzled at what was to be “histed.”
“See if we can turn the old engine over,” explained Mr. Quince.
Ike having agreed to the suggestion, he and the riverman clambered down the bank and across a plank to the deck of the Nancy Jane. A period of silence ensued, broken by violent language when Mr. Quince put his confidence in and his weight against a rotten lever. There followed the sound of strong men grunting and breathing heavily. A sudden scramble took place and with a great splash the wheel of the Nancy Jane clove the amber surface of Hog Creek.
Mr. Quince and Ike returned, perspiring freely.
“She turned,” declared Mr. Quince with pride. “She hain’t rusted up much in nigh unto two year.”