This result had been prophesied long before, and I expected it myself. It was easily explained. Beyond doubt Casey had lost his watch, by a thief, and inside the saloon; but several persons had been observed to go out about the time he discovered his loss, or rather at the moment when he declared the accusation. One of these must have been the thief—that was the verdict of the company. More likely one of them had been the receiver.
Casey was a little crest-fallen, and the regards of the company were not favourable to him. This, however, only referred to the Creoles and Frenchmen. The honest sea-faring fellows rather sympathised with him. They saw he had sustained a loss; and they were well enough acquainted with New Orleans life, to know that the man who did the deed was probably still in the room.
Casey obstinately clung to his original statement; but of course no longer urged it publicly—only sotto voce to our mate, and one or two others, who, with myself, were counselling him to apologise.
Our whispering conversation was interrupted by the approach of the young Frenchman. There was a certain resolve in his look, that bespoke some determination—evidently the affair was not over.
As he drew near, way was made for him, and he stood confronting Casey.
“Now, Monsieur, do you apologise?”
Several cried “Yes,” by way of urging Casey to an affirmative.
“No,” said he, firmly and emphatically—“never! I stand to what I said. You took my watch—you stole it.”
“Liar!” cried the once more infuriated Frenchman, and both at the same instant sprang towards each other.
Fortunately, neither was armed—except with the weapons which nature had provided—and a short game of “fisticuffs”—in which Casey had decidedly the advantage—served as a ’scape valve for the ebullition of their anger.