"The steward wants to know at what hour he shall serve dinner in the cabin to-day?" asked Cobbington, poking his head into the pilot-house at this moment.
For some reason not apparent to me, the pilot was so startled at the sound of the new waiter's voice that he let go the wheel, as he was swinging the boat around at a bend of the river. The wheel flew over with force enough to knock a man down if it had hit him. I immediately grasped the spokes, and began to heave it over again.
"No harm done; my hand slipped," said the pilot.
"Good morning, Mr. Cornwood," added the new waiter, with a broad grin on his face. "I didn't know you were the pilot of this steamer. I hope you are very well."
"Very well," answered Cornwood, with an utterly disgusted expression on his face, as he continued to throw the wheel over.
"I think the passengers will not dine on board to-day," I replied to the question of the waiter. "But I will let the steward know in season."
The forward-cabin steward retired. It was evident that Cornwood had not seen him on board before, and that he was not at all pleased to have him as a fellow-voyager on the river. Cobbington looked as though he had gained twenty pounds in flesh since he came on board on Saturday night. In his new clothes he presented a very neat appearance; and he had done his duty faithfully. He was so familiar with his work, that he required scarcely any instruction. All hands were greatly interested in his accounts of forest life in Florida, and he appeared to be a general favorite. By Monday morning, he was generally called the "sportsman."
"Is that man employed on board?" asked Cornwood, soon after Cobbington took his head out of the door.
"He is; he takes the place of Griffin Leeds," I replied.
"How long has he been on board?"