CHAPTER XXII.
OFF FOR NEW ORLEANS.
While all this was transpiring, (in Ben's mind) the young ladies had gathered up their trains in one hand, and with the other extended by way of a balancing pole—and because the attitude is supposed to be graceful—were picking their way through the mud of the crossing to the opposite side of the street. The recollection that he had a letter to deliver flashed upon our friend's mind, and he hastily followed them.
"Miss, I am commissioned to deliver this to you," he said, politely lifting the felt pouch from his head.
For a moment it seemed to him that she was about to pass on without taking the missive. Then she appeared to change her mind and asked:
"Who sent it?"
"It is from a lady, a stranger to me," replied Ben.
"Ah, I understand. Thank you," and before Ben knew what had transpired she had taken the note, and from a dainty pocket-book had placed a bright half-dollar in his hand.
When he recovered himself both young ladies were half a block away, and he staring after them stupidly. That was all. She had not only not recognized him, but scarce observed him at all, and in the little recognition of himself and services that had been bestowed was an air of condescension, and haughtiness of high-breeding, that left the impression in his mind of an utterly impassable gulf between them. Slowly he turned and walked toward the levee, humbled and mortified, and with a singular notion forcing itself in upon his humiliation that his ten cents, expended in a shave, had been money thrown away. His castles had not only tumbled down, but they had buried him in the ruins. For several blocks he crushed the half-dollar in his hand, as though it were the author of his miseries and disappointments. Then, in a moment of wounded pride and passion, he flung it far into the street, and felt better.
"What an ass I am," he said bitterly, "to think that she would have noticed me! Who or what am I that she should grant me the courtesy of a recognition? I am anass, that is what I am. And I'll get to New Orleans as quickly as I can, and if I am successful sail from there to Europe, and see if I can't pick up some common-sense over there where all the rest of my countrymen lose what little they have."
"For Memphis, Vicksburg and New Orleans. The swift and palatial'Argenta';Sparbar,Master;Quillbucker,Clerk; will leave St. Louis at 4 P.M., to-day. For freight or passage apply on board."
The "Argenta" was the pride of the western waters. She it was that ran the celebrated race with the "Chief" there several years ago. Both boats were advertised to go on their usual journey in a quiet, orderly, non-contesting manner. The captains knew nothing about any race. The clerks knew nothing about any race. The mates, engineer, fireman, deck-hands and roustabouts knew nothing about any race. Nobody knew any thing about any race. So when the boats backed away from the New Orleans levee out into the broad river there were thousands of persons there to witness their departure and thousands of dollars wagered upon them. Both were stripped to the belt.
Everything that would catch wind or water was laid aside. Machinery carefully looked to, polished and oiled. Superfluous weights removed and both crafts prepared for the contest that no one knew any thing about. As a result of all this stripping the Argenta came into St. Louis ahead of the Chief, and several thousand sanguine individuals were stripped of their spare change for many months thereafter. It was the "wind up" of Mississippi yachting. A peaceful epilogue to a long drama of bursted boilers, murdered men, scalded deck-hands and drowned passengers. Racing on the western waters is out of date and out of fashion.
With deep intonings the Argenta's great bell sounded its final notes of solemn warning. The apple venders and orange peddlers sprang to the shore. The short-card men, fakirs, and magic-knife and thimble-rig manipulators deserted their prey. The huge stage was drawn in and up. The "last man" came rushing down the levee, bag in hand, and was taken on board on a single plank. There was a great jangling of small bells—a moment's silence—and then with a rush and a roar, amid the batter of big paddle-wheels, churning of water, clank of machinery, pulsations of the great exhausts, and the shouts of the crowd on shore, the Argenta backed from her berth into the stream, lay a second or two motionless in the waters, and then turned her nose to the south, and sped for New Orleans!