turned to him in this hour of need. It has been charged against Mark
Twain that he was deplorably lazy--apocryphal anecdotes are still
narrated with much gusto to prove it. Think of a lazy boy undertaking
the stupendous task of learning to know the intricate and treacherous
secrets of the great river, to know every foot of the route in the dark
as well as he knew his own face in the glass! And yet he confesses that
he was unaware of the immensity of the undertaking upon which he had
embarked.

"In 1852," says Bixby, "I was chief pilot on the 'Paul Jones', a boat
that made occasional trips from Pittsburg to New Orleans. One day a
tall, angular, hoosier-like young fellow, whose limbs appeared to be
fastened with leather hinges, entered the pilot-house, and in a
peculiar, drawling voice, said--

"'Good mawnin, sir. Don't you want to take er piert young fellow and
teach 'im how to be er pilot?'

"'No sir; there is more bother about it than it's worth.'

"'I wish you would, mister. I'm er printer by trade, but it don't 'pear
to 'gree with me, and I'm on my way to Central America for my health. I
believe I'll make a tolerable good pilot, 'cause I like the river.'

"'What makes you pull your words that way?'

"'I don't know, mister; you'll have to ask my Ma. She pulls hern too.
Ain't there some way that we can fix it, so that you'll teach me how to
be er pilot?'