"Of course it is," said Seth.  "Why, that's Joe Mason, isn't it?  How
you'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 old
are 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 pay
you?"

"Board and clothes."

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

"Yes."

"I guess the major's tailor's bill won't ruin him, then.  Are they
the 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 boy
in California, Mr. Larkin?"

"Call me Seth.  It's what I'm used to.  I don't often use the handle
to my name.  Well, there's a chance for a boy, if he's smart; but
he'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 try
your luck."

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

"Well, maybe you could get there for a hundred dollars, if you wasn't
particular how you went."

A hundred dollars!  It might as well have been ten thousand, as far
as Joe was concerned.  He received no money wages, nor was he likely
to as long as he remained in the major's employ.  There was a shoe
shop in the village, where money wages were paid, but there was no
vacancy; and, even if there were, Joe was quite unacquainted with the
business, and it would be a good while before he could do any more
than pay his expenses.

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

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




CHAPTER IV

JOE'S LEGACY

The next day was Saturday.  There was no school, but this did not
lighten 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 a
stick 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 it
as a favor if you will call him."

Oscar hesitated.  Finally he decided to go and then return to hear
what business Joe and the deacon had together.  He rather hoped that
Joe had been trespassing on the deacon's grounds, and was to be
reprimanded.

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 good
morning.

"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 just
about kept her, but she managed to save a little out of it.  When the
funeral expenses were paid it was found that there were fifty-six
dollars 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 the
nearest relation she had, and it was her wish that whatever was left
should go to you."

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

"The money has been sent to me, Joe," continued the deacon.  "I'm
ready to pay it over to you when you want it, but I hope you won't
spend it foolish."

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

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

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

"Very well, Joseph.  G'lang, Dobbin!" and the deacon started his old
horse, 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 a
sum as his father's hired boy had fallen heir to.  On the whole, he
respected 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 the
bargain 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 in
the daytime."

No doubt this arrangement would be satisfactory to Oscar, who would
reap 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 what
use 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 your
passage 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'll
give you the best advice I can."

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

The nest thing was to give Major Norton warning.

"Major Norton," said Joe, "I should like to have you get another boy
in 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 your
clothes?"

"No, sir.  I don't see much prospect for me if I stay here and I have
heard 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 rough
cloth, Joe stood on the platform at the depot.  The cars came up, he
jumped aboard, and his heart beat with exultation as he reflected
that 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 and
confusion 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 tied
in 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 the
next street for reflection.  Finally he stopped at an apple and
peanut 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 a
dollar 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 would
have greater cause to be startled at the prices now asked at our
fashionable 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 a
changed name, was not a stylish inn.

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

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

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

"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 reason
that 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 the
freckle-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 the
boy, with a grin.

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

"All right.  I'll tell 'em to be sure and have it ready in two or
three years."

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

"Oh, I get in hot water every day."

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

So here he was in New York, and on the way to California, too--that
is, he hoped so.  How much can happen in a little while.  Three days
before 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 go
unless I am obliged to," he determined.

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

"Folks live better in the city than they do in the country," he
thought; "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's
board and lodging.

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

In the barroom Joe found a file of two of the New York daily papers,
and began to search for the advertisement of the California steamers.

At last he found it.

The steamer was to start in three days.  Apply for passage and any
information at the company's offices.

"I'll go right down there, and find out whether I've got money enough
to take me," Joe decided.




CHAPTER VI

JOE BUYS A TICKET

The office of the steamer was on the wharf from which it was to
start.  Already a considerable amount of freight was lying on the
wharf ready to be loaded.  Joe made his way to the office.

"Well, boy, what's your business?" inquired a stout man with a red
face, who seemed to be in charge.

"Is this the office of the California steamer, sir?"

"Yes."

"What is the lowest price for passage?"

"A hundred dollars for the steerage."

When Joe heard this his heart sank within him.  It seemed to be the
death-blow to his hopes.  He had but fifty dollars, or thereabouts,
and there was no chance whatever of getting the extra fifty.

"Couldn't I pay you fifty dollars now and the rest as soon as I can
earn it in California?" he pleaded.

"We don't do business in that way."

"I'd be sure to pay it, sir, if I lived," said Joe.  "Perhaps you
think I am not honest."

"I don't know whether you are or not," said the agent cavalierly.
"We never do business in that way."

Joe left the office not a little disheartened.

"I wish it had been a hundred dollars Aunt Susan left me," he said to
himself.

Joe's spirits were elastic, however.  He remembered that Seth had
never given him reason to suppose that the money he had would pay his
passage by steamer.  He had mentioned working his passage in a
sailing-vessel round the Horn.  Joe did not like that idea so well,
as the voyage would probably last four months, instead of twenty-five
days, and so delay his arrival.

The afternoon slipped away almost without Joe's knowledge.  He walked
about, here and there, gazing with curious eyes at the streets, and
warehouses, and passing vehicles, and thinking what a lively place
New York was, and how different life was in the metropolis from what
it had been to him in the quiet country town which had hitherto been
his home.  Somehow it seemed to wake Joe up, and excite his ambition,
to give him a sense of power which he had never felt before.

"If I could only get a foothold here," thought Joe, "I should be
willing to work twice as hard as I did on the farm."

This was what Joe thought.  I don't say that he was correct.  There
are many country boys who make a mistake in coming to the city.  They
forsake quiet, comfortable homes, where they have all they need, to
enter some city counting-room, or store, at starvation wages, with,
at best, a very remote prospect of advancement and increased risk of
falling a prey to temptation in some of the many forms which it
assumes in a populous town.  A boy needs to be strong, and
self-reliant, and willing to work if he comes to the city to compete
for the prizes of life.  As the story proceeds, we shall learn
whether Joe had these necessary qualifications.

When supper was over he went into the public room of the Commercial
Hotel, and took up a paper to read.  There was a paragraph about
California, and some recent discoveries there, which he read with
avidity.

Though Joe was not aware of it, he was closely observed by a
dark-complexioned man, dressed in rather a flashy manner.  When our
hero laid down the paper this man commenced a conversation.

"I take it you are a stranger in the city, my young friend?" he
observed, in an affable manner.

"Yes, sir," answered Joe, rather glad to have some one to speak to.
"I only arrived this morning."

"Indeed!  May I ask from what part of the country you come?"

"From Oakville, New Jersey."

"Indeed!  I know the place.  It is quite a charming town."

"I don't know about that," said Joe.  "It's pretty quiet and
dull--nothing going on."

"So you have come to the city to try your luck?"

"I want to go to California."

"Oh, I see--to the gold-diggings."

"Have you ever been there, sir?"

"No; but I have had many friends go there.  When do you expect to
start?"

"Why, that is what puzzles me," Joe replied frankly.  "I may not be
able to go at all."

"Why not?"

"I haven't got money enough to buy a ticket."

"You have got some money, haven't you?"

"Yes--I have fifty dollars; but I need that a hundred dollars is the
lowest price for a ticket."

"Don't be discouraged, my young friend," said the stranger, in the
most friendly manner.  "I am aware that the ordinary charge for a
steerage ticket is one hundred dollars, but exceptions are sometimes
made."

"I don't think they will make one in my case," said Joe.  "I told the
agent I would agree to pay the other, half as soon as I earned it,
but he said he didn't do business in that way."

"Of course.  You are a stranger to him, don't you see?  That makes
all the difference in the world.  Now, I happen to be personally
acquainted with him.  I am sure he would do me a favor.  Just give me
the fifty dollars, and I'll warrant I'll get the ticket for you."

Joe was not wholly without caution, and the thought of parting with
his money to a stranger didn't strike him favorably.  Not that he had
any doubts as to his new friend's integrity, but it didn't seem
businesslike.

"Can't I go with you to the office?" he suggested.