“Ah! you vain mother!” said Berwick, laughing. “You say that, because he seems lost in admiration of our little Clara. Isn’t her weakness transparent, Mr. Onslow? What think _you_ of this new-comer?” “He certainly has the air of a gentleman,” said Onslow “and yet he looks to me very much like a fellow I once had up before me for horse-stealing. Was he too much interested in looking at your wife, or did he purposely abstain from letting me catch his eye? I shouldn’t wonder if he were either a steamboat gambler or a horse-thief!” “Atrocious!” exclaimed Mrs. Berwick. “I don’t believe a word of it. That man a horse-thief! Impossible!” “On closer examination, I think I must be mistaken,” rejoined Mr. Onslow. “If I remember aright, the fellow with whom I confound him had red hair.” “There! I knew you must be either joking or in error,” said the lady. “And now,” continued Mr. Onslow, “I have a vague recollection of meeting him at the hotel where I stopped in Chicago last week.” “Ah! if he is a Chicago man, I must be right in my estimate of him,” said Mrs. Berwick. “Why so? Why should you be partial to Chicago?” “Because my father was one of the first residents of the place.” “What was his name?” “Robert Aylesford.” As she uttered this word they repassed the stranger. To their surprise he repeated, in a tone of astonishment, “Aylesford!” then seemed to fall into a fit of musing. Before they again reached the spot, he had walked away, and taken a seat in an arm-chair aft, where he occupied himself in wiping the opera-glass with his handkerchief. If he had recognized Onslow, he had not betrayed it. Here the attention of all on the upper deck was arrested by an explosion of wrathful oaths. A tall, gaunt, round-shouldered man, dressed in an ill-fitting suit of some coarse, home-made cloth, had ascended the stairs with a lighted cigar in his mouth. One of the waiters of the boat, a bright-looking mulatto, followed him, calling, “Mister! Mister!” The tall man paid no heed to the call, and the mulatto touched him on the shoulder, and said, “We don’t allow smoking on this deck,” whereupon the tall man angrily turned on him and, with eyes blazing with savage fire, exclaimed: “What in hell air yer at, nigger? Ask my pardon, blast yer, or I’ll smash in yer ugly profile, sure!” “Ask your pardon for what?” “For darrin’ to put yer black hand on me, confound yer!” The mulatto replied with spirit: “You don’t bully this child, Mister. I merely did my duty.” “Duty be damned! I’ll stick yer, sure, if yer don’t apologize right off, damned lively!” And the tall man unsheathed a monstrous bowie-knife. Mr. Onslow approached, and mildly interposed with the remark, “It was natural for the waiter to touch you, since he couldn’t make you hear.” “Who the hell air you, sir?” said the tall man. “I reckon I kn settle with the nigger without no help of yourn.” “Yes,” said another voice; “if the gentleman demands it, the nigger must ask his pardon.”