“It seems, I’ve won the money,” Number Two observed, carelessly; and Number One handed him the two hundred dollars.
Another laugh went round. O, the heartlessness of human beings! What they would regard as a grave misfortune, if it happened to themselves, they look upon as an excellent joke, when another is the victim.
“Dat’s nuffin,” said the darkey, trying to appear unconcerned. But, O, how poorly he succeeded!
“Nothing, when you get used to it once,” observed one of the spectators, soothingly.
“But it takes a fellow a deuce of a time to get used to it,” put in another unfeeling passenger.
Poor darkey turned away, as sad a picture as I ever saw, went and took a seat on the capstan, and tried to whistle a careless tune. But his clumsy lips were dry and unsteady, and he couldn’t get them puckered in any sort of shape.
“Confound if I haven’t come near forgetting my valise, with this fooling,” said Number Two, abruptly, after he had stowed away his money. “I left it up in Quincy, and must go and get it.” So, he walked down the gangway plank, up the wharf, and disappeared in the city.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that fellow were a regular rogue,” observed Number One, gazing after him. “I intend to keep my eye on him.” And he, too, went ashore.
Soon after, the boat backed out from the landing, and proceeded up the river; but neither Number One nor Number Two were among the passengers.