Joe's Luck; Or, Always Wide Awake, Page 2

  "How much better can a man do in California?" asked Daniel Tompkins.

  "Well, Dan," said Seth, "it depends on the kind of man he is. Ifhe's a man like you, that spends his money for rum as fast as he getsit, I should say it's just as well to stay here. But if he's willingto work hard, and to put by half he makes, he's sure to do well, andhe may get rich. Why, I knew a man that landed in California thesame day that I did, went up to the mines, struck a vein, and--well,how much do you think that man is worth to-day?"

  "A thousand dollars?" suggested Dan Tompkins.

  "Why, I'm worth more than that myself, and I wasn't lucky, and hadthe rheumatism for four months. You'll have to go higher."

  "Two thousand?" guessed Sam Stone.

  "We don't make much account of two thousand dollars in the mines,Sam," said Seth.

  "It's of some account here," said Sam. "I've been workin' ten years,and I ain't saved up a third of it."

  "I don't doubt it," said Seth; "and it ain't your fault, either.Money's scarce round here, and farmin' don't pay. You know what Iwas workin' at before I went out--in a shoe shop. I just about madea poor livin', and that was all. I didn't have money enough to paymy passage out, but I managed to borrow it. Well, it's paid now, andI've got something left."

  "You haven't told us yet how much the man made that you was talkin'about," said Tom Sutter. "It couldn't be five thousand dollars, now,could it?"

  "I should say it could," said Seth.

  "Was it any more?" inquired Dan Tompkins.

  "Well, boys, I s'pose I may as well tell you, and you may b'lieve itor not, just as you like. That man is worth twenty thousand dollarsto-day."

  There was a chorus of admiring ejaculations.

  "Twenty thousand dollars! Did you ever hear the like?"

  "Mind, boys, I don't say it's common to make so much money in soshort a time. There isn't one in ten does it, but some make evenmore. What I do say is, that a feller that's industrious, andwillin' to work, an' rough it, and save what he makes, is sure to dowell, if he keeps well. That's all a man has a right to expect, orto hope for."

  "To be sure it is."

  "What made you come home, Seth, if you were gettin' on so well?"inquired one.

  "That's a fair question," said Seth, "and I'm willin' to answer it.It was because of the rheumatics. I had 'em powerful bad at themines, and I've come home to kinder recuperate, if that's the rightword. But I'm goin' back ag'in, you may bet high on that. No morework in the shoe shop for me at the old rates. I don't mean that I'dmind bein' a manufacturer on a big scale. That's a little morestiddy and easy than bein' at the mines, but that takes more capitalthan I've got."

  "How much does it cost to go out there?" asked Dan Tompkins.

  "More money than you can scare together, Dan. First-class, nigh onto three hundred dollars, I believe."

  This statement rather dampened the ardor of more than one of thelisteners. Three hundred dollars, or even two, were beyond theconvenient reach of most of those present. They would have tomortgage their places to get it.

  "You can go second-class for a good deal less, and you can go roundthe Horn pretty cheap," continued Seth.

  "How far away is Californy?" inquired Sam Stone.

  "By way of the isthmus, it must be as much as six thousand miles, andit's twice as fur, I reckon, round the Horn. I don't exactly knowthe distance."

  "Then it's farther away than Europe," said Joe, who had beenlistening with eager interest.

  "Of course it is," said Seth. "Why, that's Joe Mason, isn't it? Howyou've grown since I saw you."

  "Do you think I have?" said Joe, pleased with the assurance.

  "To be sure you have. Why, you're a big boy of your age. How oldare you?"

  "Fifteen---nearly sixteen."

  "That's about what I thought. Where are you livin' now, Joe?"

  "I'm working for Major Norton."

  Seth burst into a laugh.

  "I warrant you haven't made your fortune yet, Joe," he said.

  "I haven't made the first start yet toward it."

  "And you won't while you work for the major. How much does he payyou?"

  "Board and clothes."

  "And them are the clothes?" said Seth, surveying Joe's appearancecritically.

  "Yes."

  "I guess the major's tailor's bill won't ruin him, then. Are theythe best you've got?"

  "No; I've got a better suit for Sunday."

  "Well, that's something. You deserve to do better, Joe."

  "I wish I could," said Joe wistfully. "Is there any chance for a boyin California, Mr. Larkin?"

  "Call me Seth. It's what I'm used to. I don't often use the handleto my name. Well, there's a chance for a boy, if he's smart; buthe's got to work."

  "I should be willing to do that."

  "Then, if you ever get the chance, it won't do you any harm to tryyour luck."

  "How much did you say it costs to get there?"

  "Well, maybe you could get there for a hundred dollars, if you wasn'tparticular how you went."

  A hundred dollars! It might as well have been ten thousand, as faras Joe was concerned. He received no money wages, nor was he likelyto as long as he remained in the major's employ. There was a shoeshop in the village, where money wages were paid, but there was novacancy; and, even if there were, Joe was quite unacquainted with thebusiness, and it would be a good while before he could do any morethan pay his expenses.

  Joe sighed as he thought how far away was the prospect of his beingable to go to California. He could not help wishing that he were thepossessor of the magic carpet mentioned in the Arabian tale, uponwhich the person seated had only to wish himself to be transportedanywhere, and he was carried there in the twinkling of an eye.

  Joe walked home slowly, dreaming of the gold-fields on the other sideof the continent, and wishing he were there.

  CHAPTER IV

  JOE'S LEGACY

  The next day was Saturday. There was no school, but this did notlighten Joe's labors, as he was kept at work on the farm all day.

  He was in the barn when Deacon Goodwin, a neighbor, drove up.

  Oscar was standing in front of the house, whittling out a cane from astick he had cut in the woods.

  "Is Joe Mason at home?" the deacon inquired.

  Oscar looked up in surprise. Why should the deacon want Joe Mason?

  "I suppose he is," drawled Oscar.

  "Don't you know?"

  "Probably he is in the barn," said Oscar indifferently.

  "Will you call him? I want to see him on business."

  Oscar was still more surprised. He was curious about the business,but his pride revolted at the idea of being sent to summon Joe.

  "You'll find him in the barn," said he.

  "I don't want to leave my horse," said the deacon. "I will take itas a favor if you will call him."

  Oscar hesitated. Finally he decided to go and then return to hearwhat business Joe and the deacon had together. He rather hoped thatJoe had been trespassing on the deacon's grounds, and was to bereprimanded.

  He opened the barn door and called out:

  "Deacon Goodwin wants you out at the gate."

  Joe was as much surprised as Oscar.

  He followed Oscar to the front of the house and bade the deacon goodmorning.

  "Oscar tells me you want to see me," he said.

  "Yes, Joe. Do you remember your Aunt Susan?"

  "My mother's aunt?"

  "Yes; she's dead and buried."

  "She was pretty old," said Joe.

  "The old lady had a small pension," continued the deacon, "that justabout kept her, but she managed to save a little out of it. When thefuneral expenses were paid it was found that there were fifty-sixdollars and seventy-five cents over."

  "What's going to be done with it? he inquired.

  "She's left it to you," was the unexpected reply, "You was thenearest relation she had, and it was her wish that whatever wa
s leftshould go to you."

  "I'm very much obliged to her. I didn't expect anything. I hadalmost forgotten I had a great-aunt."

  "The money has been sent to me, Joe," continued the deacon. "I'mready to pay it over to you when you want it, but I hope you won'tspend it foolish."

  "I don't think I shall, Deacon Goodwin."

  "It wouldn't take long to spend it, Joe," said the deacon. "Do youwant me to keep it for you?"

  "I don't know," said Joe; "I haven't had time to think. I'll comeround to-night and see you."

  "Very well, Joseph. G'lang, Dobbin!" and the deacon started his oldhorse, who had completed his quarter century, along the road.

  Oscar had listened, not without interest, to the conversation.Though he was the son of a rich man, he had not at command so large asum as his father's hired boy had fallen heir to. On the whole, herespected Joe rather more than when he was altogether penniless.

  "You're in luck, Joe," said he graciously.

  "Yes," said Joe. "It's very unexpected."

  "You might buy yourself a new suit of clothes."

  "I don't intend to do that."

  "Why not? You were wishing for one yesterday."

  "Because it is your father's place to keep me in clothes. That's thebargain I made with him."

  "Perhaps you are right," said Oscar.

  "I'll tell you what you can do," he said, after a pause.

  "What?"

  "You might buy a boat."

  "I shouldn't have any time to use it."

  "You might go out with it in the evening. I would look after it inthe daytime."

  No doubt this arrangement would be satisfactory to Oscar, who wouldreap all the advantage, but Joe did not see it in a favorable light.

  "I don't think I should care to buy a boat," he said.

  "What do you say to buying a revolver?"

  "I think it would be better to put it on interest."

  "You'd better get the good of it now. You might die and then whatuse would the money be?"

  On the way to the deacon's Joe fell in with Seth Larkin.

  "Well, my boy, where are you bound?" asked Seth.

  "To collect my fortune," said Joe.

  Seth asked for an explanation and received it.

  "I'm glad for you and I wish it were more."

  "So do I," said Joe.

  "What for? Anything particular?"

  "Yes; if it was enough, I would go to California."

  "And you really want to go?"

  "Yes. I suppose fifty dollars wouldn't be enough?"

  "No; it wouldn't," said Seth; "but I'll tell you what you could do."

  "What?"

  "Go to New York and keep yourself till you got a chance to work yourpassage round the Horn."

  "So I might," said Joe, brightening up.

  "It wouldn't be easy, but you wouldn't mind that."

  "No; I wouldn't mind that."

  "Well, if you decide to go, come round and see me to-morrow, and I'llgive you the best advice I can."

  The deacon opposed Joe's plan, but in vain. Our hero had made up hismind. Finally the old man counted out the money and Joe put it in anold wallet.

  The nest thing was to give Major Norton warning.

  "Major Norton," said Joe, "I should like to have you get another boyin my place."

  "What, Joe?" exclaimed the major.

  "I am going to leave town."

  "Where are you going?" asked his employer.

  "First to New York and afterwards to California."

  "Well, I declare! Is it because you ain't satisfied with yourclothes?"

  "No, sir. I don't see much prospect for me if I stay here and I haveheard a good deal about California."

  "But you haven't got any money."

  "I have almost sixty dollars."

  "Oh, yes; Oscar told me. You'd better stay here."

  "No, sir; I have made up my mind."

  "You'll come back in a month without a cent."

  "If I do, I'll go to work again for you."

  Monday morning came. Clad in his Sunday suit of cheap and roughcloth, Joe stood on the platform at the depot. The cars came up, hejumped aboard, and his heart beat with exultation as he reflectedthat he had taken the first step toward the Land of Gold.

  CHAPTER V

  AT THE COMMERCIAL HOTEL.

  Joe had never been in New York and when he arrived the bustle andconfusion at first bewildered him.

  "Have a hack, young man?" inquired a jehu.

  "What'll you charge?"

  "A dollar and a half, and half-a-dollar for your baggage."

  "This is all the baggage I have," said Joe, indicating a bundle tiedin a red cotton handkerchief.

  "Then, I'll only charge a dollar and a half," said the hackman.

  "I'll walk," said Joe. "I can't afford to pay a dollar and a half."

  "You can't walk; it's too far."

  "How far is it?"

  "Ten miles, more or less," answered the hackman.

  "Then I shall save fifteen cents a mile," said Joe, not much alarmed,for he did not believe the statement.

  "If you lose your way, don't blame me."

  Joe made his way out of the crowd, and paused at the corner of thenext street for reflection. Finally he stopped at an apple andpeanut stand, and, as a matter of policy, purchased an apple.

  "I am from the country," he said, "and I want to find a cheap hotel.Can you recommend one to me?"

  "Yes," said the peanut merchant. "I know of one where they charge adollar a day."

  "Is that cheap? What do they charge at the St. Nicholas?"

  "Two dollars a day."

  "A day?" asked Joe, in amazement.

  It must be remembered that this was over fifty years ago. Joe wouldhave greater cause to be startled at the prices now asked at ourfashionable hotels.

  "Well, you can go to the cheap hotel."

  "Where is it?"

  The requisite directions were given. It was the Commercial Hotel,located in a down-town street.

  The Commercial Hotel, now passed away, or doing business under achanged name, was not a stylish inn.

  It was rather dark and rather dingy, but Joe did not notice thatparticularly. He had never seen a fine hotel, and this structure,being four stories in height above the offices, seemed to him ratherimposing than otherwise.

  He walked up to the desk, on which was spread out, wide open, thehotel register. Rather a dissipated-looking clerk stood behind thecounter, picking his teeth.

  "Good morning, sir," said Joe politely. "What do you charge to stayhere?"

  "A dollar a day," answered the clerk.

  "Can you give me a room?"

  "I guess so, my son. Where is your trunk?"

  "I haven't got any."

  "Haven't you got any baggage?"

  "Here it is."

  The clerk looked rather superciliously at the small bundle.

  "Then you'll have to pay in advance."

  "All right," said Joe. "I'll pay a day in advance."

  A freckle-faced boy was summoned, provided with the key of No. 161,and Joe was directed to follow him.

  "Shall I take your bundle?" he asked.

  "No, thank you. I can carry it myself."

  They went up-stairs, until Joe wondered when they were going to stop.Finally the boy paused at the top floor, for the very good reasonthat he could get no higher, and opened the door of 161.

  "There you are," said the boy. "Is there anything else you want?"

  "No, thank you."

  "I'm sorry there ain't a bureau to keep your clothes," said thefreckle-faced boy, glancing at Joe's small bundle with a smile.

  "It is inconvenient," answered Joe, taking the joke.

  "You wouldn't like some hot water for shaving, would you?" asked theboy, with a grin.

  "You can have some put on to heat and I'll order it when my beard isgrown," said Joe good-naturedly.

  "All right. I'll tell 'em to b
e sure and have it ready in two orthree years."

  "That will be soon enough. You'd better order some for yourself atthe same time."

  "Oh, I get in hot water every day."

  The freckle-faced boy disappeared, and Joe sat down on the bed, toreflect a little on his position and plans.

  So here he was in New York, and on the way to California, too--thatis, he hoped so. How much can happen in a little while. Three daysbefore he had not dreamed of any change in his position.

  "I hope I shan't have to go back again to Oakville. I won't gounless I am obliged to," he determined.

  He washed his hands and face, and went down-stairs. He found thatdinner was just ready. It was not a luxurious meal, but, comparedwith the major's rather frugal table, there was great variety andluxury. Joe did justice to it.

  "Folks live better in the city than they do in the country," hethought; "but, then, they have to pay for it. A dollar a day! Why,that would make three hundred and sixty-five dollars a year!"

  This to Joe seemed a very extravagant sum to spend on one person'sboard and lodging.

  "Now," thought Joe, after dinner was over, "the first thing for me tofind out is when the California steamer starts and what is the lowestprice I can go for."