They finished that game of euchre—for amusement—then Mr. Greeney, with a most extraordinary expression of countenance, arose from his seat at the table, and, in a rather husky voice, said he believed he wouldn’t play any more: he seemed to have lost all interest in the game: and he walked away _whistling_. Whistling? Yes. But, O, what a dull, dry sort of a whistle he made of it! The sudden loss of eighty dollars is not very elevating to the spirits of a person in moderate circumstances; and who can say what the poor dupe suffered? Notwithstanding all his attempts to appear unconcerned, and to emit a forced whistle, it was plain that he was suffering no ordinary mental torture. How remarkable it is, that when a man feels right bad, and don’t want the fact made public, he tries to turn it off with _whistling_! There seems to be something soothing in a strain or two of this species of music, if only executed with any skill; but a man who is suffering inward “pangs” can rarely get the right “pucker” on his lips. Poor Mr. Greeney made a miserable whistle of it, and if he had wept aloud for his lost cash, he could not have more clearly exhibited his anguish to the unsympathizing spectators. The game being ended, Mr. Sharper purchased a good cigar at the bar, lighted it, and, taking an armchair out upon the cabin deck, seated himself, rested his polished boots on the railing, and laid back in his chair, quietly smoking, and at the same time regarding the picturesque shores of the river, with a calmness and self-satisfaction that must have been agonizing for poor Mr. Greeney to look at. When the Captain learned what had happened in the cabin, he went to Mr. Sharper, and told him he must leave the boat at Cairo, as soon as a landing could be conveniently effected, as he could not tolerate a gambler on his boat. Mr. Sharper coolly replied that he had not intended to go further than Cairo, anyhow; but, if he had—— The Captain interrupted him with a friendly warning against any thing bordering on defiance or insolence. He remarked that he had not picked a blackleg or thief up by the neck and heels, and pitched him into the river, for nearly a year, and that he was beginning to feel marvelously like taking a bit of such exercise; and that he would assuredly do so, if so much as one more articulate sound should escape him (Mr. Sharper). The latter appreciated the warning, and during the remainder of his stay on board the Nightingale, maintained a commendable silence. At Cairo, where the Ohio river empties into the Mississippi, we landed, and laid for a couple of hours before proceeding up the broad Mississippi; and Mr. Sharper promptly left us.