Meantime, the episode dropped out of my mind.
The thing that reminded me of it now, when I was alone at the wheel, was the spectacle of this young fellow standing in the pilot-house door, with the knob in his hand, silently and severely inspecting me.

I don't know when I have seen anybody look so injured as he did.

He did not say anything--simply stood there and looked; reproachfully looked and pondered.

Finally he shut the door, and started away; halted on the texas a minute; came slowly back and stood in the door again, with that grieved look in his face; gazed upon me awhile in meek rebuke, then said-- 'You let me learn you all about a steamboat, didn't you ?' 'Yes,' I confessed.
'Yes, you did--DIDN'T you ?' 'Yes.' 'You are the feller that--that--' Language failed.

Pause--impotent struggle for further words--then he gave it up, choked out a deep, strong oath, and departed for good.
Afterward I saw him several times below during the trip; but he was cold--would not look at me.