"Tea," answered George; while the waiter smiled at what he regarded as a pleasantry on the part of the first clerk. Only those passengers who have paid their fare are served at table; and to show that they are square with the office, it is customary for them to place their tickets beside their plates, so that the waiters can see them.
"Beefsteak or mutton chop, sah?" continued the darkey.
George gave his order; and when the waiter had gone off with his plate, he thrust his hands into his vest pockets, as if he were searching for his ticket.
"I guess you haven't got one," said the clerk. "I know you haven't paid your fare to me."
"I don't seem to find anything that looks like a ticket, that's a fact," said George, "but I'll take supper with you, all the same. I wouldn't be too hard on an old acquaintance, if I were you."
"You are no acquaintance of mine," said the clerk, whose face grew a shade paler than it usually was.
"But I have seen you before, anyway," persisted George. "I met you on the Quitman, and we had a talk about a pocket-book I found on the roof. I believe that, in a roundabout way, you rather gave me credit for restoring it to its owner. I didn't think then, that you and I would ever be attached to the same vessel, for I didn't know that you were a riverman."
"O, you belong here, do you?" exclaimed the clerk.
"I do. My place is in the pilot-house."
"Why didn't you say so, without so much fooling?"