“That’s all fixed,” he cried, blithely.
“Bully boy!” said Younkins, admiringly.
“Car’ yer baggage aboard, boss?” asked the lively young darky.
“Take it along,” said Sandy, with a lordly air. They shook hands with Younkins once more, this time with more fervor than ever. Then the three lads filed on board the steamboat. The gang-plank was hauled in, put out again for the last 214 tardy passenger, once more taken aboard, and then the stanch steamer “New Lucy” was on her way down the turbid Missouri.
“Oh, Sandy,” whispered Charlie, “you gave that darky almost the last cent we had for bringing our baggage on board. We ought to have lugged it aboard ourselves.”
“Lugged it aboard ourselves? And all these people that we are going to be passengers with for the next four or five days watching us while we did a roustabout’s work? Not much. We’ve a quarter left.”
Charlie was silent. The great stern-wheel of the “New Lucy” revolved with a dashing and a churning sound. The yellow banks of the Missouri sped by them. The sacred soil of Kansas slid past as in a swiftly moving panorama. One home was hourly growing nearer, while another was fading away there into the golden autumnal distance.