She turned to him. The look of injury was gone. “I was cross, Daddy. I did wrong, and I beg your pardon.” She raised her lips for him to kiss and gave a little laugh in which there were memories of sadness.
That morning there was unusual activity on the South Ridgefield river front. The peace of Hog Creek was disturbed by the clang of shovels, the ring of slice bars, and the hissing of steam. Billowy clouds of smoke curling from the funnel of the Nancy Jane mixed with the river mist and gave variety to the smells emanating from the slaughter houses on the further shore.
As the sun dissipated the fog, the Nancy Jane left her anchorage, and, with much puffing and squeaking, breasted the sluggish current of the Lame Moose River. To the youth of the town, the reappearance of the craft was a matter of supreme interest, and, grouped along the bank, they gave voice to their pleasure in cheers. So, it is painted, the rural New Yorkers greeted the maiden voyage of the Clermont.
The Nancy Jane hove to and made fast at her appointed tryst with the babies. Thereafter, Mr. Quince, bearing the pole with the iron hook as arms, acted as a landing party, and dispersed groups of youth who displayed a disposition to visit the ship without invitation.
Dr. Jackson came aboard at an early hour, and caused a truck load of cots to be arranged in two long rows down the center of the deck. Upon these he prepared comfortable beds of blankets.
Mr. Quince viewed these activities in the light of his personal experiences. “I have seen ’em dance and sing and fight on the Nancy Jane but I hain’t never seen nobody sleep much, leastwise, if they was sober.” Suspicion entered his mind regarding the intentions of the physician. “You hain’t a thinkin’ of pullin’ off no booze party in these prohibition times, air yer?” he demanded. “I don’t want no law on me. I’m a respectable man and I runs a respectable boat.”
The distrust cast upon his efforts to relieve suffering disgusted the doctor. “You attend to your business and I’ll attend to mine. You can kick when I start something wrong,” he protested.
“All right, old hoss, I have warned yer. There’s a cop on the bridge a watching yer, now.” Mr. Quince pointed to where a policeman leaned lazily over the bridge rail and inspected the Nancy Jane with the mild curiosity aroused by its re-advent upon the river.
The absurd suggestion of the riverman irritated the doctor to redoubled energy. Jumping on the bank, he seized a carboy of lime water which he wrapped in a blanket and brought aboard, endeavoring to protect it from the sun’s rays by concealing it beneath a cot.
Mr. Quince’s worst suspicions were confirmed. He called to his follower. “Sim, come here!”