In dress and general appearance he differed altogether from the rest. He wore a white beaver hat with broad brim, and a coat of great “jeans,” wide-sleeved and loose-bodied. He had the look of a well-to-do corn-farmer from Indiana or a pork-merchant from Cincinnati. Yet there was something in his manner that told you river-travelling was not new to him. It was not his first trip “down South.” Most probably the second supposition was the correct one—he was a dealer in hog-meat.
One of the fine gentlemen I have described sat opposite to where I was standing. He appeared to be losing considerable sums, which the farmer or pork-merchant was winning. It proved that the luck of the cards was not in favour of the smartest-looking players—an inducement to other plain people to try a hand.
I began to feel sympathy for the elegant gentleman, his losses were so severe. I could not help admiring the composure with which he bore them.
At length he looked up, and scanned the faces of those who stood around. He seemed desirous of giving up the play. His eye met mine. He said, in a careless way—
“Perhaps, stranger, you wish to take a hand? You may have my place if you do. I have no luck. I could not win under any circumstances to-night. I shall give up playing.”
This appeal caused the rest of the players to turn their faces towards me, and among others the pork-dealer. I expected an ebullition of anger from this individual. I was disappointed. On the contrary, he hailed me in a friendly tone.
“Hilloa, mister!” cried he, “I hope you an’t miffed at me?”
“Not in the least,” I replied.
“Fact, I meant no offence. Did think thar war a some ’un overboard. Dog-gone me, if I didn’t!”
“Oh! I have taken no offence,” rejoined I; “to prove it, I ask you now to drink with me.”