"We're about there, aren't we ?" she asked.
"The wharf's up beyond the second bridge--the Covington Bridge," explained Waterbury with the air of the old experienced globe-trotter.

"There's a third one, further up, but you can't see it for the smoke." And he went on and on, volubly airing his intimate knowledge of the great city which he visited once a year for two or three days to buy goods.

He ended with a scornful, "My, but Cincinnati's a dirty place!" Dirty it might be, but Susan loved it, dirt and all.

The smoke, the grime somehow seemed part of it, one of its charms, one of the things that made it different from, and superior to, monotonous country and country town.

She edged away from the Waterburys, hid in her stateroom watching the panorama through the curtained glass of her promenade deck door.