Joe's Luck; Or, Always Wide Awake

"Never saw him before in my life."

"Ain't you mistaken, boy?" asked the officer.

"No, sir. This is the very man."

"Have you any business here?" asked the officer.

"Yes," said the man; "I've taken a steerage ticket to San Francisco.

Here it is."

"All right. Go in."

He tore himself from Joe's grasp and went on board the steamer. Our hero, provoked, was about to follow him, when the officer said:

"Stand back! You have no ticket."

"That man bought his ticket with my money."

"That is nothing to me," said the officer. "It may be so, or you may be mistaken."

"I am not mistaken," said Joe.

"You can report it to the police—that is, if you think you can prove it. Now, stand back!"

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

THE FIRST DAY ON BOARD

"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 in New York, and got a living somehow, even if I had to black boots in the street."

"I guess you'll do. You've got the right spirit. It takes boys and men like you for pioneers."

Joe was gratified at his companion's approval.

"Now," said Folsom, "I may as well tell you my story. I am the son of a New York merchant who is moderately rich. I entered the counting-room at seventeen, and have remained there ever since, with the exception of four months spent in Europe."

"If you are rich already, why do you go out to California?" asked Joe.

"I am not going to the mines; I am going to prospect a little for the firm. Some day San Francisco will be a large city. I am going to see how soon it will pay for our house to establish a branch there."

"I see," said Joe.

"I shall probably go out to the mines and take a general survey of the country; but, as you see, I do not go out to obtain employment."

"It must be jolly not to have to work," said Joe, "but to have plenty of money to pay your expenses."

"Well, I suppose it is convenient. I believe you haven't a large cash surplus?"

"I have a dollar."

"You've got some pluck to travel so far away from home with such a slender capital, by Jove!"

"I don't know that it's pluck. It's necessity."

"Something of both, perhaps. Don't you feel afraid of what may happen?"

"No," said Joe. "California is a new country, and there must be plenty of work. Now, I am willing to work and I don't believe I shall starve."

"That's the way to feel, Joe. At the worst, you have me to fall back upon. I won't see you suffer."

"It is very lucky for me. I hope I shan't give you any trouble."

"If you do, I'll tell you of it," said Folsom, laughing. "The fact is, I feel rather as if I were your guardian. An odd feeling that, as hitherto I have been looked after by others. Now it is my turn to assume authority."

"You will find me obedient," said Joe, smiling. "Seriously, I am so inexperienced in the way of the world that I shall consider it a great favor if you will give me any hints you may think useful to me."

Folsom became more and more pleased with his young charge. He saw that he was manly, amiable, and of good principles, with only one great fault—poverty—which he was quite willing to overlook.

They selected their seats in the saloon, and were fortunate enough to be assigned to the captain's table. Old travelers know that those who sit at this table are likely to fare better than those who are farther removed.

While Folsom was walking the deck with an old friend, whom he had found among the passengers, Joe went on an exploring expedition.

He made his way to that portion of the deck appropriated to the steerage passengers. Among them his eye fell on the man who swindled him.

"You here!" exclaimed the fellow in amazement.

"Yes," said Joe, "I am here."

"I thought you said your ticket wasn't good?"

"It wasn't, as you very well know."

"I don't know anything about it. How did you smuggle yourself aboard?"

"I didn't smuggle myself aboard at all. I came on like the rest of the passengers."

"Why haven't I seen you before?"

"I am not a steerage passenger. I am traveling first-class."

"You don't mean it!" ejaculated the fellow, thoroughly astonished.

"You told me you hadn't any more money."

"So I did, and that shows that you were the man that sold me the bogus ticket."

"Nothing of the kind," said the other, but he seemed taken aback by Joe's charge. "Well, all I can say is, that you know how to get round. When a man or boy can travel first-class without a cent of money, he'll do."

"I wouldn't have come at all if I had had to swindle a poor boy out of his money," said Joe.

Joe walked off without receiving an answer. He took pains to ascertain the name of the man who had defrauded him. He was entered on the passenger-list as Henry Hogan.

CHAPTER X

THE DETECTED THIEF

"Do you expect to be seasick, Joe?"

"I don't know, Mr. Folsom. This is the first time I have ever been at sea."

"I have crossed the Atlantic twice, and been sick each time. I suppose I have a tendency that way."

"How does it feel?" asked Joe curiously.

Folsom laughed.

"It cannot be described," he answered.

"Then I would rather remain ignorant," said Joe.

"You are right. This is a case where ignorance is bliss decidedly."

Twenty-four hours out Folsom's anticipations were realized. He experienced nausea and his head swam.

Returning from a walk on deck, Joe found his guardian lying down in the stateroom.

"Is anything the matter, Mr. Folsom?"

"Nothing but what I expected. The demon of the sea has me in his gripe."

"Can I do anything for you?"

"Nothing at present, Joe. What art can minister to a stomach diseased? I must wait patiently, and it will wear off. Don't you feel any of the symptoms?"

"Oh, no—I feel bully," said Joe. "I've got a capital appetite."

"I hope you will be spared. It would be dismal for both of us to be groaning with seasickness."

"Shall I stay with you?"

"No—go on deck. That is the best way to keep well. My sickness won't last more than a day or two."

The young man's expectations were realized. After forty-eight hours he recovered from his temporary indisposition and reappeared on deck.

He found that his young companion, had made a number of acquaintances, and had become a general favorite through his frank and pleasant manners.

"I think you'll get on, Joe," said he. "You make friends easily."

"I try to do it," said Joe modestly.

"You are fast getting over your country greenness. Of course you couldn't help having a share of it, having never lived outside of a small country village."

"I am glad you think so, Mr. Folsom. I suppose I was very green and I haven't got over it yet, but in six months I hope to get rid of it wholly."

"It won't take six months at the rate you are advancing."

Day succeeded day and Joe was not sick at all. He carried a good appetite to every meal and entered into the pleasures of sea life with zest. He played shuffle-board on deck, guessed daily the ship's run, was on the alert for distant sails, and managed in one way or another to while away the time cheerfully.

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