"Want to ship a hand, sir?" asked Tony, stepping up to a man who was dressed in a suit of navy blue, and wore a gold band around his cap.
"Guess not," replied the officer, taking one glance at Tony and then turning away.
"I'll not ask for any wages, sir," pleaded Tony. "I only want to work my passage to New Orleans."
"Don't want you," was the curt reply. "The crew is full."
This was very discouraging, but still Tony's case was not hopeless. The doctor's parting advice, "Don't you let that boat go to New Orleans without you," kept ringing in his ears, and to prevent it Tony was willing to do something desperate. He walked along the wharf until he came abreast of the stern of the vessel, and there he took his stand, and set himself to watch the officer to whom he had spoken. He moved away presently, and then Tony ran up the plank that led into the after gangway. There was no one in sight, but the hatchway was open, and as quick as thought Tony seized the combings, and swung himself into it. He crawled along over the boxes and bales, of which the steamer's freight was composed, and settling himself into a comfortable position by the side of a water-butt, drew a long breath of relief, and waited to see what was going to happen.
CHAPTER XV. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
"The way affairs are ordered in this world bangs me completely. The things we long for and dream about, and which we think are absolutely necessary for our happiness, we can't get; and those we don't care a cent for, are crowded on us."
It was George Ackerman who said this. He took possession of one of the chairs on the guard and waved his hand to Tony Richardson who was just entering the pilot-house of the steamer that was to carry him back to St. Louis.