THE WAY

Among the passengers on board the steamboat, there was a faint gentleman
sitting on a low camp-stool, with his legs on a high barrel of flour, as
if he were looking at the prospect with his ankles, who attracted their
attention speedily.

He had straight black hair, parted up the middle of his head and hanging
down upon his coat; a little fringe of hair upon his chin; wore no
neckcloth; a white hat; a suit of black, long in the sleeves and short
in the legs; soiled brown stockings and laced shoes. His complexion,
naturally muddy, was rendered muddier by too strict an economy of soap
and water; and the same observation will apply to the washable part
of his attire, which he might have changed with comfort to himself and
gratification to his friends. He was about five and thirty; was crushed
and jammed up in a heap, under the shade of a large green cotton
umbrella; and ruminated over his tobacco-plug like a cow.

He was not singular, to be sure, in these respects; for every gentleman
on board appeared to have had a difference with his laundress and to
have left off washing himself in early youth. Every gentleman, too,
was perfectly stopped up with tight plugging, and was dislocated in
the greater part of his joints. But about this gentleman there was a
peculiar air of sagacity and wisdom, which convinced Martin that he was
no common character; and this turned out to be the case.

'How do you do sir?' said a voice in Martin's ear

'How do you do sir?' said Martin.

It was a tall thin gentleman who spoke to him, with a carpet-cap on,
and a long loose coat of green baize, ornamented about the pockets with
black velvet.

'You air from Europe, sir?'

'I am,' said Martin.

'You air fortunate, sir.'

Martin thought so too; but he soon discovered that the gentleman and he
attached different meanings to this remark.

'You air fortunate, sir, in having an opportunity of beholding our
Elijah Pogram, sir.'

'Your Elijahpogram!' said Martin, thinking it was all one word, and a
building of some sort.

'Yes sir.'

Martin tried to look as if he understood him, but he couldn't make it
out.

'Yes, sir,' repeated the gentleman, 'our Elijah Pogram, sir, is, at this
minute, identically settin' by the engine biler.'

The gentleman under the umbrella put his right forefinger to his
eyebrow, as if he were revolving schemes of state.

'That is Elijah Pogram, is it?' said Martin.

'Yes, sir,' replied the other.