he
general subject of navigation. Our style of boat was indeed
admirable--for a lake, if you please, _but_--well, of course, they did
not wish to discourage us. It was quite possible that we were
unacquainted with the Upper Missouri. Now the Upper River (hanging out
that bleached rag of a sympathetic smile), the Upper River was _not_ the
Lower River, you know. (That really _did_ seem remarkably true, and we
became alarmed.) The Upper River, mind you, was terriffic. Why, those
frail ribs and that impossible planking would go to pieces on the first
rock--like an egshell! Of course, we were free to do as we pleased--they
would not discourage us for the world. And the engine! Gracious! Such a
boat would never stand the vibration of a four-horse, high-speed engine
driving a fourteen-inch screw! It appeared plainly that we were almost
criminally wrong in all our calculations. Shamefacedly we continued to
drive nails into the impossible hull, knowing full well--poor misguided
heroes--that we were only fashioning a death trap! There could be no
doubt about it. The free information bureau was unanimous. It was all
very pathetic. Nothing but the tonic of an habitual morning swim in the
clear cold river kept us game in the face of the inevitable!

We saw it all. With a sort of forlorn cannon-torn-cavalry-column hope we
pushed on with the fatal work. Never before did I appreciate old Job in
the clutches of good advice. I used to accuse him of rabbit blood. In
the light of experience, I wish to record the fact that I beg his
pardon. He was in the house of his friends. I think Job and I understand
each other better now. It was not the boils, but the free advice!

At last the final nail was driven and clenched, the canvas glued on and
ironed, the engine installed. The trim, slim little craft with her
admirable speed lines, tapering fore and aft like a fish, lay on the
ways ready for the plunge.

We had arranged to christen her with beer. The Kid stood at the prow
with the bottle poised, awaiting his cue. The little Cornishman knelt at
the prow. He was _not_ bowed in prayer. He was holding a bucket under
the soon-to-be-broken bottle. "For," said he, "in a country where beer
is so dear and advice so cheap, let us save the beer that we may be
strong to stand the advice!"

The argument was inded Socratic.

"And now, little boat," said I, in that dark brown tone of voice of
which I am particularly proud, "be a good girl! Deliver me no