My companion and I regarded each other with a look of surprise.
After all, there was nothing to surprise us. A faro bank needs no charter, no further preliminaries to its establishment than to light up a table, spread a green baize over it, and commence operations. The sportsmen were no doubt quite at home here. Their up-river excursion was only by way of a little variety—an interlude incidental to the summer. The “season” of New Orleans was now commencing, and they had just returned in time for it. Therefore there was nothing to be surprised at, in our finding them where we did.
At first seeing them, however, I felt astonishment, and my companion seemed to share it. I turned towards him, and was about proposing that we should leave the room again, when the wandering eye of the pseudo pork-merchant fell upon me.
“Hilloa, stranger!” he cried out, with an air of astonishment, “you hyar?”
“I believe so,” I replied unconcernedly.
“Wal! wal! I tho’t you war lost. Whar did you go, anyhow?” he inquired in a tone of vulgar familiarity, and loud enough to turn the attention of all present upon myself and my companion.
“Ay—whar did I go?” I responded, keeping my temper, and concealing the annoyance I really felt at the fellow’s impudence.
“Yes—that’s jest what I wanted to know.”
“Are you very anxious?” I asked.
“Oh, no—not particklerly so.”