Evidently the hold had not been able to take in all the household goods of the passengers, for there was a deck-load of these things, covered with tarpaulins.
I was sitting on the deck of our boat, wondering when I should join the western movement.

When I got old enough, and had money enough, I was determined to go west and seek my fortune; for I always felt that canalling was, somehow, beneath what I wanted to do and become.

The packet swept past us, giving me a good deal the same glimpse into a different sort of life that a deckhand on a freighter has when he gazes at a liner ablaze with lights and echoing with music.
On the deck of the packet sat a group of people who were listening to a tall stooped man, who seemed to be addressing them on some matter of interest.

There was something familiar in his appearance; and I kept my eye on him as we went by.
As the boat passed swiftly astern, I saw that it was John Rucker.
He was better dressed than I had ever seen him; his beard was trimmed, and he was the center of his group.

He was talking to a hunchback--a strange-looking person with a black beard.