Poor Joe! He had been worsted in the encounter with this arch-swindler. He would sail for San Francisco on the Columbus. Perhaps he would make his fortune there, while Joe, whom he had so swindled, might, within three days, be reduced to beggary.
Joe felt that his confidence in human nature was badly shaken. Injustice and fraud seemed to have the best of it in this world, so far as his experience went, and it really seemed as if dishonesty were the best policy. It is a hard awakening for a trusting boy, when he first comes in contact with selfishness and corruption.
Joe fell back because he was obliged to. He looked around, hoping that he might somewhere see a policeman, for he wanted to punish the scoundrel to whom he owed his unhappiness and loss. But, as frequently happens, when an officer is wanted none is to be seen.
Joe did not leave the wharf. Time was not of much value to him, and he decided that he might as well remain and see the steamer start on which he had fondly hoped to be a passenger.
Meanwhile, the preparations for departure went steadily forward. Trunks arrived and were conveyed on board; passengers, accompanied by their friends, came, and all was hurry and bustle.
Two young men, handsomely dressed and apparently possessed of larger means than the great majority of the passengers, got out of a hack and paused close to where Joe was standing.
"Dick," said one, "I'm really sorry you are not going with me. I shall feel awfully lonely without you."
"I am very much disappointed, Charlie, but duty will keep me at home.
My father's sudden, alarming sickness has broken up all my plans."
"Yes, Dick, of course you can't go."
"If my father should recover, in a few weeks, I will come out and join you, Charlie."
"I hope you may be able to, Dick. By the way, how about your ticket?"
"I shall have to lose it, unless the company will give me another in place of it."
"They ought to do it."
"Yes, but they are rather stiff about it. I would sell it for a hundred dollars."
Joe heard this and his heart beat high.
He pressed forward, and said eagerly:
"Will you sell it to me for that?"
The young man addressed as Dick looked, in surprise, at the poorly dressed boy who had addressed him.
"Do you want to go to California?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Joe. "I am very anxious to go."
"Do I understand you to offer a hundred dollars for my ticket?"
"Yes, sir; but I can't pay you now."
"When do you expect to be able to pay me, then?"
"Not till I've earned the money in California."
"Have you thought before of going?"
"Yes, sir. Until an hour ago I thought that it was all arranged that I should go. I came down here and found that the ticket I had bought was a bogus one, and that I had been swindled out of my money."
"That was a mean trick," said Dick Scudder indignantly. "Do you know the man that cheated you?"
"Yes; he is on board the steamer."
"How much money have you got left?"
"A dollar."
"Only a dollar? And you are not afraid to land in California with this sum?"
"No, sir. I shall go to work at once."
"Charlie," said Dick, turning to his friend, "I will do as you say.
Are you willing to take this boy into your stateroom in my place?"
"Yes," said Charles Folsom promptly. "He looks like a good boy. I accept him as my roommate."
"All right," said the other. "My boy, what is your name?"
"Joe Mason."
"Well, Joe, here is my ticket. If you are ever able to pay a hundred dollars for this ticket, you may pay it to my friend, Charles Folsom. Now, I advise you both to be getting aboard, as it is nearly time for the steamer to sail. I won't go on with you, Charlie, as I must go back to my father's bedside."
"Good-by, sir. God bless you!" said Joe gratefully. "Good-by, Joe, and good luck!"
As they went over the plank, the officer, recognizing Joe, said roughly:
"Stand back, boy! Didn't I tell you you couldn't go aboard without a ticket?"
"Here is my ticket," said Joe.
"A first-class ticket!" exclaimed the officer, in amazement. "Where did you get it?"
"I bought it," answered Joe.
"I shall go to California, after all!" thought our hero exultingly.
CHAPTER IX
"We will look up our stateroom first, Joe," said his new friend. "It ought to be a good one."
The stateroom proved to be No. 16, very well located and spacious for a stateroom. But to Joe it seemed very small for two persons. He was an inexperienced traveler and did not understand that life on board ship is widely different from life on shore. His companion had been to Europe and was used to steamer life.
"I think, Joe," said he, "that I shall put you in the top berth. The lower berth is considered more desirable, but I claim it on the score of age and infirmity."
"You don't look very old, or infirm," said Joe.
"I am twenty-three. And you?"
"Fifteen—nearly sixteen."
"I have a stateroom trunk, which will just slip in under my berth.
Where is your luggage?"
Joe looked embarrassed.
"I don't know but you will feel ashamed of me," he said; "but the only extra clothes I have are tied up in this handkerchief."
Charles Folsom whistled.
"Well," said he, "you are poorly provided. What have you got inside?"
"A couple of shirts, three collars, two handkerchiefs, and a pair of stockings."
"And you are going a journey of thousands of miles! But never mind," he said kindly. "I am not much larger than you, and, if you need it, I can lend you. Once in California, you will have less trouble than if you were loaded down with clothes. I must get you to tell me your story when there is time."
They came on deck just in time to see the steamer swing out of the dock.
There were some of the passengers with sober faces. They had bidden farewell to friends and relatives whom they might not see for years—perhaps never again. They were going to a new country, where hardships undoubtedly awaited them, and where they must take their chances of health and success. Some, too, feared seasickness, a malady justly dreaded by all who have ever felt its prostrating effects. But Joe only felt joyful exhilaration.
"You look happy, Joe," said young Folsom.
"I feel so," said Joe.
"Are you hoping to make your fortune in California?"
"I am hoping to make a living," said Joe.
"Didn't you make a living here at home?"
"A poor living, with no prospects ahead. I didn't mind hard work and poor clothes, if there had been a prospect of something better by and by."
"Tell me your story. Where were you living?" Charles Folsom listened attentively.
"Major Norton didn't appear disposed to pamper you, or bring you up in luxury, that's a fact. It would have been hard lines if, on account of losing your aunt's legacy, you had been compelled to go back to Oakville."
"I wouldn't have gone," said Joe resolutely.
"What would you have done?"
"Stayed