Part 18 (1/2)
As they were making ready for bed that night, the pleasant-faced young man from Baltimore, who had been playing whist with his mother and sister, and the ”military man,” as the boys had privately named one of the party, came to their door with his flute. The two musicians were fast friends at once. Flute and violin made delicious harmony, in the midst of which Sandy, who had slipped into his bunk, drifted off into the land of dreams with confused notions of a giant band somewhere up in the sky playing ”Oh, Susannah!” ”Love's Last Greeting,” and ”How Can I Leave Thee?” with occasional suggestions of the ”Song of the Kansas Emigrants.”
Another morning came on, cold, damp, and raw. The sky was overcast and there were signs of rain. ”There's been rain to the nor'rard,” said Captain Bulger, meditatively. Now Captain Bulger was the skipper of the ”New Lucy,” and when he said those oracular words, they were reported about the steamboat, to the great comfort of all on board.
Still the five boats stuck on the shoals; their crews were still hard at work at all the devices that could be thought of for their liberation. The ”War Eagle”--for they had found out the name of the musical steamer far down stream--enlivened the tedious day with her occasional strains of martial and popular music, if the steam-organ could be called musical.
In the afternoon, Oscar and the amiable young man from Baltimore shut themselves in their stateroom and played the flute and violin. The lovely lady who had made Sandy's acquaintance early in the voyage asked him if he could make one at a game of whist. Sandy replied that he could play ”a very little.” The thought of playing cards here on a steamboat, in public, as he said to himself, was rather frightful. He was not sure if his mother would like to have him do that. He looked uneasily around to see what Charlie would say about it. But Charlie was nowhere in sight. He was wandering around, like an uneasy ghost, watching for signs of the rising of the river, now confidently predicted by the knowing ones among the pa.s.sengers.
”My boys all play whist,” said the lady, kindly; ”but if you do not like to play, I will not urge you. We lack one of making up a party.”
Sandy had been told that he was an uncommonly good player for one so young. He liked the game; there would be no stakes, of course. With his ready habit of making up his mind, he brightly said, ”I'll play if you like, but you must know that I am only a youngster and not a first-rate player.” So they sat down, the lovely lady from Baltimore being Sandy's partner, and the military gentleman and the young daughter of the lady from Baltimore being their opponents. Sandy had great good luck. The very best cards fell to him continually, and he thought he had never played so well. He caught occasional strains of music from room Number 56, and he was glad that Oscar was enjoying himself. From time to time the lovely lady who was his partner smiled approvingly at him, and once in a while, while the cards were being dealt, she said, ”How divinely those dear boys are playing!”
The afternoon sped on delightfully, and Sandy's spirits rose. He thought it would be fine if the ”New Lucy” should stay stuck on a sand-bar for days and days, and he should have such a good game of whist, with the lovely lady from Baltimore for a partner. But the military gentleman grew tired. His luck was very poor, and when the servants began to rattle dishes on the supper-table, he suggested that it would be just as well perhaps if they did not play too much now; they would enjoy the game better later on. They agreed to stop with the next game.
When they had first taken their places at the card-table, the military gentleman had asked Sandy if he had any cards, and when he replied that he had none, the military gentleman, with a very lordly air, sent one of the cabin waiters to the bar for a pack of cards. Now that they were through with the game, Sandy supposed that the military gentleman would put the cards into his pocket and pay for them. Instead of that he said, ”Now, my little man, we will saw off to see who shall pay for the cards.”
”Saw off?” asked Sandy, faintly, with a dim notion of what was meant.
”Yes, my lad,” said the military gentleman. ”We will play one hand of Old Sledge to see who shall pay for the cards and keep them.”
With a sinking heart, but with a brave face, Sandy took up the cards dealt to him and began to play. It was soon over. Sandy won one point in the hand; the military gentleman had the other three.
”Take care of your cards, my son,” said the military gentleman; ”we may want them again. They charge the extravagant price of six bits for them on this boat, and these will last us to St. Louis.”
Six bits! Seventy-five cents! And poor Sandy had only twenty-five cents in his pocket. That silver quarter represented the entire capital of the Boy Settlers from Kansas. Looking up, he saw Charlie regarding him with reproachful eyes from a corner of the saloon. With great carefulness, he gathered up his cards and rose, revolving in his mind the awful problem of paying for seventy-five cents' worth of cards with twenty-five cents.
”Well, you've got yourself into a nice sc.r.a.pe,” tragically whispered Charlie, in his ear, as soon as the two boys were out of earshot of the others. ”What are you going to do now? You can spar your way down to St. Louis, but you can't spar your way with that barkeeper for a pack of cards.”
”Let me alone, Charlie,” said Sandy, testily. ”You haven't got to pay for these cards. I'll manage it somehow. Don't you worry yourself the least bit.”
”Serves you right for gambling. What would mother say if she knew it?
If you hadn't been so ready to show off your whist-playing before these strangers, you wouldn't have got into such a box.”
”I didn't gamble,” replied Sandy, hotly. ”It isn't gambling to play a hand to see who shall pay for the cards. All men do that. I have seen daddy roll a game of tenpins to see who should pay for the alley.”
”I don't care for that. It is gambling to play for the leastest thing as a stake. Nice fellow you are, sitting down to play a hand of seven-up for the price of a pack of cards! Six bits at that!”
”A nice brotherly brother you are to nag me about those confounded cards, instead of helping a fellow out when he is down on his luck.”
Charlie, a little conscience-stricken, held his peace, while Sandy broke away from him, and rushed out into the chilly air of the after-deck. There was no sympathy in the dark and murky river, none in the forlorn sh.o.r.e, where rows of straggling cottonwoods leaned over and swept their muddy arms in the muddy water. Looking around for a ray of hope, a bright idea struck him. He could but try one chance.
The bar of the ”New Lucy” was a very respectable-looking affair, as bars go. It opened into the saloon cabin of the steamer on its inner side, but in the rear was a small window where the deck pa.s.sengers sneaked up, from time to time, and bought whatever they wanted, and then quietly slipped away again, unseen by the more ”high-toned”
pa.s.sengers in the cabin. Summoning all his courage and a.s.surance, the boy stepped briskly to this outside opening, and, leaning his arms jauntily on the window-ledge, said, ”See here, cap, I owe you for a pack of cards.”
”Yep,” replied the barkeeper, holding a bottle between his eye and the light, and measuring its contents.
This was not encouraging. Sandy, with a little effort, went on: ”You see we fellows, three of us, are sparring our way down to St. Louis.
We have got trusted for our pa.s.sage. We've friends in St. Louis, and when we get there we shall be in funds. Our luggage is in p.a.w.n for our pa.s.sage money. When we come down to get our luggage, I will pay you the six bits I owe you for the cards. Is that all right?”
”Yep,” said the barkeeper, and he set the bottle down. As the lad went away from the window, with a great load lifted from his heart, the barkeeper put his head out of the opening, looked after him, smiled, and said, ”That boy'll do.”