They reached New Orleans without any mishap, her cargo was discharged, another one taken on board, and the Kendall was made ready for her trip up the river. The passengers began to arrive; and while Mr. Black sat on the boiler-deck, watching them as they came up the gang-plank, and waiting for George, who had gone ashore to purchase some papers for him, he discovered among them a pompous old gentleman with a gold-headed cane, whom he was sure he recognised. He turned and looked at the gentleman as he came up the stairs, and telling himself that he had made no mistake, arose and extended his hand to him.
"Why, general, how are you?" said he. "I did not expect to see you here."
Uncle John, for it was he, gave him a haughty stare for an answer. Then he raised his eye-glass and looked at the pilot through it.
"I am Mr. Black, you know," said the latter. "George Ackerman's——"
"O yes, yes!" exclaimed Uncle John, who was cordial enough now—not because he liked the pilot, but because he believed the man could serve him. "Are you and George attached to this boat? Well, that's fortunate. Where is George?"
"I am expecting him every moment," replied Mr. Black. "I am sorry to say that he is going to leave me. I really don't see how I can get along without him."
"I believe there was a distinct understanding between you and him, that he was to remain with you until he learned the river," said Uncle John, as he and the pilot seated themselves. "You told me that it would take him three years or more to do that, but he has been with you scarcely eighteen months."
"But what am I to do when he positively refuses to stay with me any longer?" inquired Mr. Black.
"Reason with him," was the answer. "Talk him into a different frame of mind."
"I have tried to do that, but it is of no use. He says that matters in Texas demand his immediate attention."