“That would do it, for Glummy always wants to cut a dash with his rocks,” said Darry. “But he needn’t take it out on us. I’ve got to room with him, unfortunately, but I shan’t stand much of his cutting up.”
As only three staterooms were to be had, Amos Strong had taken Sam in with himself and given another room to Frank and Mark. This just suited the two New York boys and they at once proceeded to make themselves as comfortable as the limited means permitted.
As the steamer was a small one and carried but few passengers, the help was also limited, and both the table and the staterooms were looked after by a tall, gaunt negro who rejoiced in the name of January Jones. The colored man was from Alabama and had shipped some months before. He was thoroughly good natured, but one would never have guessed this from his face, which was usually as solemn as that of an owl.
“Be pleased to help yo’ young gen’men wid yo’ things,” he announced, on presenting himself. “Do whatever yo’ wants me to, sah.”
“Thanks, but everything is about done,” said Mark, who was addressed. Then he added: “Are you the porter?”
“Yes, sah, I’se de portah an’ de waitah, sah.”
“Two in one, eh? All right, George, we’ll call on you later.”
“Yes, sah—January Jones, sah.”
“January Jones!” came from Frank. “That’s an odd name. How did they come to name you January?”
“Ole massa did dat, sah—afo’ de wah, sah. Called me January because I was boahn in July, sah—said eberything was goin’ wrong, wid that wah comin’ on, an’ things was turnin’ ’round, sah.”