Joe's Luck; Or, Always Wide Awake

"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.

"I think I can succeed better in the negotiation if I am alone," said the stranger. "I'll tell you what—you needn't hand me the money, provided you agree to take the ticket off my hands at fifty dollars if I secure it."

"Certainly I will, and be very thankful to you."

"I always like to help young men along," said the stranger benevolently. "I'll see about it to-morrow. Now, where can I meet you?"

"In this room. How will that do?"

"Perfectly. I am sure I can get the ticket for you. Be sure to have the money ready."

"I'll be sure," said Joe cheerfully.

"And hark you, my young friend," continued the stranger, "don't say a word to any one of what I am going to do for you, or I might have other applications, which I should be obliged to refuse."

"Very well, sir. I will remember."

Punctually at four the next day the stranger entered the room, where Joe was already awaiting him.

"Have you succeeded?" asked Joe eagerly.

The stranger nodded.

"Let us go up to your room and complete our business. For reasons which I have already mentioned, I prefer that the transaction should be secret."

"All right, sir."

Joe got his key, and led the way up-stairs.

"I had a little difficulty with the agent," said the stranger; "but finally he yielded, out of old friendship." He produced a large card, which read thus:

CALIFORNIA STEAMSHIP COMPANY.

THE BEARER

Is Entitled to One Steerage Passage

FROM NEW YORK TO SAN FRANCISCO STEAMER COLUMBUS.

Below this was printed the name of the agent. Joe paid over the money joyfully.

"I am very much obliged to you," he said gratefully.

"Don't mention it," said the stranger, pocketing the fifty dollars.

"Good day! Sorry to leave you, but I am to meet a gentleman at five."

He went down-stairs, and left Joe alone.

CHAPTER VII

JOE GETS INTO TROUBLE

"How lucky I have been," thought Joe, in the best of spirits. "There wasn't one chance in ten of my succeeding, and yet I have succeeded. Everything has turned out right. If I hadn't met this man, I couldn't have got a ticket at half price."

Joe found that after paying his hotel expenses, he should have a dollar left over. This would be rather a small sum to start with in California, but Joe didn't trouble himself much about that.

In the course of the day Joe found himself in the upper part of the Bowery. It seemed to him a very lively street, and he was much interested in looking in at the shop windows as he passed.

He was standing before a window, when a stone from some quarter struck the pane and shivered it in pieces.

Joe was startled, and was gazing at the scene of havoc in bewilderment, when a stout German, the proprietor, rushed out and seized him by the collar.

"Aha! I have you, you young rascal!" he exclaimed furiously. "I'll make you pay for this!"

By this time Joe had recovered his senses.

"Let me alone!" he exclaimed.

"I let you know!" exclaimed the angry man. "You break my window!

You pay me five dollar pretty quick, or I send you to prison!"

"I didn't break your window! It's a lie!"

"You tell me I lie?" shouted the angry German. "First you break my window, then you tell me I lie! You, one bad boy—you one loafer!"

"I don't know who broke your window," said Joe, "but I tell you I didn't. I was standing here, looking in, when, all at once, I heard a crash."

"You take me for one fool, perhaps," said his captor, puffing with excitement. "You want to get away, hey?"

"Yes, I do."

"And get no money for my window?"

By this time a crowd had collected around the chief actors in this scene. They were divided in opinion.

"Don't he look wicked, the young scamp?" said a thin-visaged female with a long neck.

"Yes," said her companion. "He's one of them street rowdies that go around doin' mischief. They come around and pull my bell, and run away, the villians!"

"What's the matter, my boy?" asked a tall man with sandy hair, addressing himself to Joe in a friendly tone.

"This man says I broke his window."

"How was it? Did you break it?"

"No, sir. I was standing looking in, when a stone came from somewhere and broke it."

"Look here, sir," said the sandy-haired man, addressing himself to the German, "what reason have you for charging this boy with breaking your window?"

"He stood shoost in front of it," said the German.

"If he had broken it, he would have run away. Didn't that occur to you?"

"Some one broke mine window," said the German.

"Of course; but a boy who threw a stone must do so from a distance, and he wouldn't be likely to run up at once to the broken window."

"Of course not. The man's a fool!" were the uncomplimentary remarks of the bystanders, who a minute before had looked upon Joe as undoubtedly guilty.

"You've got no case at all," said Joe's advocate. "Let go the boy's collar, or I shall advise him to charge you with assault and battery."

"Maybe you one friend of his?" said the German.

"I never saw the boy before in my life," said the other, "but I don't want him falsely accused."

"Somebody must pay for my window."

"That's fair; but it must be the boy or man that broke it, not my young friend here, who had no more to do with it than myself. I sympathize with you, and wish you could catch the scamp that did it."

At that moment a policeman came up.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"My window was broke—dat's what's de matter."

"Who broke it?" asked the policeman.

"I caught dat boy standing outside," pointing to Joe.

"Aha, you young rascal! I've caught you, have I? I've had my eye on you for weeks!"

And Joe, to his dismay, found himself collared anew.

"I've only been in the city two days," said Joe.

"Take him to jail!" exclaimed the German.

And the policeman was about to march off poor Joe, when a voice of authority stayed him.

"Officer, release that boy!" said the sandy-haired man sternly.

"I'll take you along, too, if you interfere."

"Release that boy!" repeated the other sternly; "and arrest the German for assault and battery. I charge him with assaulting this boy!"

"Who are you?" demanded the officer insolently.

"My name is –, and I am one of the new police commissioners," said the sandy-haired man quietly.

Never was there a quicker change from insolence to fawning.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir," said the officer, instantly releasing Joe. "I didn't know you."

"Nor your duty, either, it appears," said the commissioner sternly. "Without one word of inquiry into the circumstances, you were about to arrest this boy. A pretty minister of justice you are!"

"Shall I take this man along, sir?" asked the policeman, quite subdued.

At this suggestion the bulky Teuton hurried into his shop, trembling with alarm. With great difficulty he concealed himself under the counter.

"You may let him go this time. He has some excuse for his conduct, having suffered loss by the breaking of his window. As for you, officer, unless you are more careful in future, you will not long remain a member of the force."

The crowd disappeared, only Joe and his advocate remaining behind.

"I am grateful to you, sir, for your kindness," said Joe. "But for you I should have been carried to the station-house."

"It is fortunate I came along just as I did. Are you a stranger in the city?"

"Yes, sir."

"You must be careful not to run into danger. There are many perils in the city for the in experienced."

"Thank you, sir. I shall remember your advice."

The next day, about two hours before the time of sailing, Joe went down to the wharf.

As he was going on board a man stopped him.

"Have you got a ticket?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," said Joe, "a steerage ticket. There it is."

"Where did you get this?" asked the man.

Joe told him.

"How much did you pay for it?"

"Fifty dollars."

"Then you have lost your money, for it is a bogus ticket. You can't travel on it."

Joe stared at the other in blank dismay. The earth seemed to be sinking under him. He realized that he had been outrageously swindled, and that he was farther from going to California than ever.

CHAPTER VIII

JOE'S LUCK CHANGES

The intelligence that his ticket was valueless came to Joe like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. The minute before he was in high spirits—his prospects seemed excellent and his path bright.

"What shall I do?" he ejaculated.

"I can't tell you," said the officer. "One thing is clear—you can't go to California on that ticket."

Poor Joe! For the moment hope was dead within his breast. He had but one dollar left and that was only half the amount necessary to carry him back to the village where we found him at the commencement of our story. Even if he were able to go back, he felt he would be ashamed to report the loss of his money. The fact that he had allowed himself to be swindled mortified him not a little. He would never hear the last of it if he returned to Oakville.

"No; I wouldn't go back if I could," he decided.

"Wouldn't I like to get hold of the man that sold me the ticket!"

He had hardly given mental expression to this wish when it was gratified. The very man passed him and was about to cross the gangplank into the steamer. Joe's eyes flashed, and he sprang forward and seized the man by the arm.

The swindler's countenance changed when he recognized Joe, but he quickly decided upon his course.

"What do you want, Johnny?" he asked composedly.

"What do I want? I want my fifty dollars back."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"You sold me a bogus ticket for fifty dollars," said Joe stoutly.

"Here it is. Take it back and give me my money."

"The boy must be crazy," said the swindler.

"Did you sell him that ticket?" inquired the officer.