"It's in the last lock now," explained Carrington.

"My clothes will all be ruined," said Betty. He regarded the
dress she wore with instant concern. "No--I mean the things in
my trunks; this doesn't matter," and Betty nodded toward the pile
under the steaming tarpaulin. Carrington's dark eyes opened with
an expression of mild wonder. And so those trunks were full of
clothes--Oh, Lord!--he looked down at the flushed, impatient face
beside him with amusement.

"I'll see that they are taken care of," he said, for the boat was
alongside the platform now; and gathering up Betty's hand
luggage, he helped her aboard.

By the time they had reached Wheeling, Betty had quite parted
with whatever superficial prejudice she might have had concerning
river-men. This particular one was evidently a very nice
river-man, an exception to his kind. She permitted him to assume
the burden of her plans, and no longer scanned the pages of her
Badger's and Porter's with a puckered brow. It reposed at the
bottom of her satchel. He made choice of the steamer on which
she should continue her journey, and thoughtfully chose The
Naiad--a slow boat, with no reputation for speed to sustain. It
meant two or three days longer on the river, but what of that?
There would be no temptation in the engine-room to attach a
casual wrench or so to the safety-valve as an offset to the
builder's lack of confidence in his own boilers. He saw to it
that her state-room was well aft--steamers had a trick of blowing
up forward.