Stateroom Six.
by William Albert Lewis.
THINGS have changed greatly on the river. There are no open bars, no card playing, no shooting; much less travel, for that matter.
We were a half dozen at supper. I sat opposite a gray-bearded man, who, when he had completed his meal, closely scrutinized a modest-appearing young woman quietly supping at another table. She finished and departed. When she was gone my neighbor leaned across and said:
Perhaps you thought it funny I watched that lady so closely? But that's Sis. I remember her twenty years back, on this very boat. My ! but what a look at her brings to my mind!"
He leaned back, his eyes on the table, a grim smile broadening a kindly countenance, and pushed both hands deeply into his pockets.
The man had something he wanted to tell.
"A romance, I suppose? I'd like to hear it."
"It was twenty years ago, and on this boat, the Hester Hale. Professional gamblers were always aboard, looking for victims. None were more daring nor more lucky than 'Ready' Rankin. A handsome fellow, of good family, with a heart big and manly, if he was a cut-throat gambler and a bad man all around. Down at that landing we left before sundown,—Kelly ville,—an old man was waiting, one night, with a wee tot of a girl. He brought her aboard. You know how natural it is to consign children to the care of some person? The child was the old man's grand-daughter. She was to get off at Low Water Landing, which is the next stop we'll make, a few minutes from now. He happened to put the child in 'Ready' Rankin's care. He agreed to see her safely ashore and to deliver her to her ma. 'Ready' got a stateroom, put the child in one of the berths, and gave her a bag
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