“I have, nearly,” said this Jibby Jones. He did not say it in a bragging way, either. He said it as if it was so. “Have you ever been on the Mississippi before?” Tad asked him. “Not this part,” Jibby Jones said. “I’ve been on the upper Mississippi, and on the lower Mississippi, but father saved this middle part of the Mississippi until last.” Tad picked up his wrench and tapped on the side of the motor-boat sort of carelessly. “Well,” Tad said, winking at us, “I’ve not seen many rivers. I’ve seen the Cedar River and the Iowa River and the Rock River, and that is about all, but I’ll tell you one thing. I’ll tell you this: this middle part of the Mississippi is the greatest old river in the world. That lower Mississippi is too big, and that upper Mississippi is too little, but this middle Mississippi is just right. And it don’t make any difference what you think you know about other rivers, it don’t do you any good when you come to our old Mississippi. This is a real river. It’s different.” “So father said,” said Jibby Jones. “Yes,” said Tad, “and this is no river for a raw boy to monkey with until he learns about it. What is your name?” Then Tad winked at us again, but Jibby Jones did not see him wink and he answered as sober as a judge. “My name,” he said, “is Oliver Parmenter Jones, but nobody calls me that. Nearly every one calls me Jibby. They call me that because of my nose; it is like the jib on a sailboat, you see. Don’t you think it is?” He turned sideways so we could see that his nose was like the jib of a sailboat! I never saw such a fellow! He did not merely pretend to be proud that his nose was like the jib of a sailboat; he really was proud of it. Later we learned he was proud of his nose because it was like his Grandfather Parmenter’s nose. Jibby was the only one in his family that had the Parmenter nose. I thought it was a queer thing to be proud of. “So you can call me Jibby, if you want to,” Jibby Jones told us, just as if he did not doubt we would want to call him something. “I rather like Jibby,” he said; “it sounds nautical. But you can call me Main Mast if you’d rather. Quite a few call me Main Mast. That’s because I’m so tall. Father and mother call me son, but you wouldn’t like to do that. And the twins and brother call me Wally. I don’t like that so much. It suggests a walrus. Do you mind if I help you with the motor-boat? I know quite a little about motor-boats.” Well, he did! He came down the bank and in two minutes he had the motor-boat chugging away like an old-timer! “Father says I have a nose for motor troubles,” he told us.