river side, it hung over the water, its narrow veranda supported by
piles, with steps down to the water-side. Seldom was there an hour when
boats were not tied to these steps. Summer and winter the tavern was a
place of resort. Inside, the low ceiling, the broad rafters, the great
fireplace, the well-worn floor, the deep windows, the wooden cross let
into the wall, and the varied and picturesque humanity frequenting this
great room, gave it an air of romance. Yet there were people who called
the tavern a "shebang"--slander as it was against Suzon Charlemagne,
which every river-driver and woodsman and habitant who frequented the
place would have resented with violence. It was because they thought
Charley Steele slandered the girl and the place in his mind, that the
river-drivers had sworn they would make it hot for him if he came again.
Charley was the last man in the world to undeceive them by words.

When he coolly walked into the great room, where a half-dozen of them
were already assembled, drinking white "whiskey-wine," he had no
intention of setting himself right. He raised his hat cavalierly to
Suzon and shook hands with her.

He took no notice of the men around him. "Brandy, please!" he said.
"Why do I drink, do you say?" he added, as Suzon placed the bottle and
glass before him.

She was silent for an instant, then she said gravely: "Perhaps because
you like it; perhaps because something was left out of you when you were
made, and--"

She paused and went no further, for a red-shirted river-driver with brass
rings in his ears came close to them, and called gruffly for whiskey. He
glowered at Charley, who looked at him indolently, then raised his glass