"Why, your uncle, John Ackerman."
"Oh, great Cæsar, is he here?" cried George. "Are you sure?"
"Am I sure that I have eyes and ears? Of course he is here, and I have had a long talk with him. He says he doesn't want you at home, that everything is going smoothly there, and that he will not consent to your leaving the river."
If Mr. Black could have read the thoughts that were passing through the young pilot's mind, he would have been astonished beyond measure. He knew nothing whatever of the boy's private affairs, for the latter had made a confident of no one except Mr. Gilbert; but he was sharp enough to see that the "general's" wishes would have no weight whatever with George.
"Is there anybody with Uncle John?" asked the young pilot, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise.
"I didn't see anybody. I think he is alone. During our conversation, he informed me that he was going up the river on business, and that he had struck this boat by the merest accident, not knowing that we belonged to her."
Leaving Mr. Black to the enjoyment of his papers, George walked into the cabin and looked all around for his uncle. He was not in sight, but the clerks told him that a gentleman who answered to the name and description he gave them, had purchased a ticket for St. Louis, and been assigned to a stateroom; so George sat down in the cabin to wait until he made his appearance.
Those who witnessed the meeting between the young pilot and his relative, who called him his "dear nephew" loud enough to be heard by every body in the cabin, told one another, that Uncle John certainly thought a great deal of the boy, and that George ought to have his ears boxed for giving him so cold a reception. If their meeting had taken place in private, Uncle John would not have been quite so effusive. He felt more like seizing George by the collar, than shaking him by the hand.
"Where's Ned?" asked the boy, after a few common-place remarks had passed between them.
"He is at home," replied Uncle John. "He has started a herd of cattle, and is trying to show the folks there, that he is capable of making an honest living. The troubles into which he so thoughtlessly brought himself are happily settled, and he is very well contented. What has become of Gus Robbins I don't know. But, George, what is this I hear about your leaving the river? You surely haven't made up your mind to that?"