Mr. Quince was an adaptable man, and, regardless of his amazement at the character of his cargo, he rose to the occasion. Boarding his ship, he inspected the rows of infants. "Wisht I'd a knowed these yere kids," he worried. "I mought a picked up some old trunk checks at the railroad station." "What for, Mr. Quince?" asked Virginia. "Some of these yere kids a lyin' around careless like is agoin' to git mixed up and start the allfiredest fight amongst these women folks. Nothin' makes a woman madder and want to fight quicker than to lose a kid." Mr. Quince spoke in the tone of one accustomed to hailing the main top in the midst of storm, and his voice carried authoritative anxiety to the ears of every mother. A scene of confusion ensued. The dire prophecy of the riverman caused each mother to seize her offspring and press it to her breast. The infants, having expressed acceptance of their new surroundings by falling asleep, were disturbed and made known their objections in loud wailings. "Who stirred up those babies?" Dr. Jackson demanded, angrily. "He did," chorused the mothers, indicating the worthy seafaring man. "He said that they would get mixed up." The hostile eyes of the matrons watched Mr. Quince as if suspicious that he might attempt personally to bring about the fulfillment of his prediction. "Nonsense," shouted Dr. Jackson. "You mothers ought to know your own babies by now, and, if you don't, you certainly know the clothes they have on." This assurance had a calming influence and quiet was slowly restored. For a time Dr. Jackson appeared about to reprimand the riverman, but hesitated, probably fearful of again being placed on record. Mr. Quince perceived the evidences of his personal unpopularity with great coolness. Unabashed, he remarked, "You're gettin' all het up a layin' around here with your kids. There's nothing to it but a heap of sweating. Let's go." "Wait a minute, please," begged Virginia. "I think that some one else is coming. Won't you blow your whistle, Mr. Quince?" At this request, real embarrassment descended upon the skipper. After scratching his head reflectively, he went aft to the engine room, or, more accurately, climbed across to the rear barge and entered into conference with Sim. After a period of argument and persuasion, that young man took a slice bar and pounded at the lever of the whistle. A great cloud of steam hissed forth, from the midst of which came a thin wailing note very like in volume those advertising the presence of hot roasted peanuts. Above the noise came a cry of "Whoa, hold on." Kelly, followed by Mr. Jones, gallantly guarding Miss Knight, lest she inadvertently plunge headlong into the waves below, descended from the bridge. The stenographer was fittingly garbed for the occasion in flannel trousers, silk shirt, serge coat and yachting cap. "We can go now, Mr. Quince," cried Virginia, making herself heard with difficulty above the roar of escaping steam.