Not the boat. The boat ran on safely enough to Louisville, and tied upat the levee, and discharged her sugar und molasses, and took on a newcargo of baled hay and corn and flour, and went back again, and made Iknow not how many trips, and ender her existence I can not tell how orwhen. What does become of the old steamboats? The Iatan ran for yearsafter she tied up at Louisville that summer morning, and then perhapsshe was blown up or burned up; perchance some cruel sawyer transfixedher; perchance she was sunk by ice, or maybe she was robbed of herengines and did duty as barge, or, what is more probable, she wore outlike the one-hoss shay, and just tumbled to pieces simultaneously.
It was not the gambler who got aground that morning. He had yet othernice little games, with three cards or more or none, to play.
It was not the mud-clerk who ran aground--good, non-committal soul, whonever look sides where it would do him any harm, and who never worriedhimself about anything. Dear, drawling, optimist philosopher, who couldsee how other people's mishaps were best for them, and who took goodcare not to have any himself! It was not he that ran aground.
It was not Norman Anderson who ran aground. He walked into the storewith the proud and manly consciousness of having done his duty, he madehis returns of every cent of money that had come into his hands, and,like all other faithful stewards, received the cordial commendation ofhis master.
But August Wehle the striker, just when he was to be made an engineer,when he thought he had smooth sailing, suddenly and provokingly foundhimself fast aground, with no spar or capstan by which he might helphimself off, with no friendly craft alongside to throw him a hawser andpull him off.
It seems that when the captain promised him promotion, he did not knowanything of August's interference with the gamblers. But when Parkinsfiled his complaint, it touched the captain. It was generally believedamong the _employes_ of the boat that a percentage of gamblers' gainswas one of the "old man's" perquisites, and he was not the onlysteamboat captain who profited by the nice little games in the cabinupon which he closed both eyes. And this retrieved nine hundred andfifty dollars was a dead loss of--well, it does not matter how much, tothe virtuous and highly honorable captain. His proportion would havebeen large enough at least to pay his wife's pew-rent in St. James'sChurch, with a little something over for charitable purposes. For thecaptain did not mind giving a disinterested twenty-five dollarsoccasionally to those charities that were willing to show theirgratitude by posting his name as director, or his wife's as "LadyManageress." In this case his right hand never knew what his left handdid--how it got the money, for instance.
So when August drew his pay he was informed that he was discharged. Noreason was given. He tried to see the captain. But the captain was inthe bosom of his family, kissing his own well-dressed little boys, andenjoying the respect which only exemplary and provident fathers enjoy.And never asking down in his heart if these boys might become gamblers'victims, or gamblers, indeed. The captain could not see August thestriker, for he was at home, and must not be interfered with by any ofhis subordinates. Besides, it was Sunday, and he could not be intrudedupon--the rector of St. James's was dining with him on his wife'sinvitation, and it behooved him to walk circumspectly, not witheye-service as a man-pleaser, but serving the Lord.
So he refuted to see the anxious striker, and turned to compliment therector on his admirable sermon on the sin of Judas, who sold his masterfor thirty pieces of silver.
And August Wehle had nothing left to do. The river was falling fast, thelarge boats above the Falls were, in steamboat-man's phrase, "laying up"in the mouths of the tributaries and other convenient harbors, therewere plenty of engineers unemployed, and there were no vacancies.