Joe's Luck; Or, Always Wide Awake by Jr. Horatio Alger (web ebook reader txt) 📕

and, entering the more placid waters of San Francisco Bay, moored at a short distance from the town.

"What do you think of it, Joe?" asked Charles Folsom.

"I don't know," said Joe slowly. "Is this really San Francisco?"

"It is really San Francisco."

"It doesn't seem to be much built up yet," said Joe.

In fact, the appearance of the town would hardly suggest the stately capital of to-day, which looks out like a queen on the bay and the ocean, and on either side opens her arms to the Eastern and Western continents. It was a town of tents and one-story cabins, irregularly and picturesquely scattered over the hillside, with here and there a sawmill, where now stand some of the most prominent buildings of the modern city. For years later there was a large mound of sand where now the stately Palace Hotel covers two and a half acres. Where now stand substantial business blocks, a quarter of a century since there appeared only sandy beaches or mud-flats, with here and there a wooden pier reaching out into the bay. Only five years before the town contained but seventy-nine buildings—thirty-one frame, twenty-six adobe, and the rest shanties. It had grown largely since then, but even now was only a straggling village, with the air of recent settlement.

"You expected something more, Joe, didn't you?"

"Yes," admitted Joe.

"You must remember how new it is. Ten years, nay, five, will work a great change in this straggling village. We shall probably live to see it a city of a hundred thousand inhabitants."

The passengers were eager to land. They were tired of the long voyage and anxious to get on shore. They wanted to begin making their fortunes.

"What are your plans, Joe?" asked Charles Folsom.

"I shall accept the first job that offers," said Joe. "I can't afford to remain idle long with my small capital."

"Joe," said the young man seriously, "let me increase your capital for you. You can pay me back, you know, when it is convenient. Here, take this gold piece."

Our young hero shook his head.

"Thank you, Mr. Folsom," he said, "you are very kind, but I think it will be better for me to shift on what I have. Then I shall have to go to work at once, and shall get started in my new career."

"Suppose you can't find work?" suggested Folsom.

"I will find it," said Joe resolutely.

"Perhaps we might take lodgings together, Joe."

"I can't afford it," said Joe. "You're a gentleman of property, and I'm a poor boy who has his fortune to make. For the present I must expect to rough it."

"Well, Joe, perhaps you are right. At any rate, I admire your pluck and independent spirit."

There was a motley crowd collected on the pier and on the beach when Joe and his friend landed. Rough, bearded men, in Mexican sombreros and coarse attire—many in shirt-sleeves and with their pantaloons tucked in their boots—watched the new arrivals with interest.

"You needn't feel ashamed of your clothes, Joe," said Folsom, with a smile. "You are better dressed than the majority of those we see."

Joe looked puzzled.

"They don't look as if they had made their fortunes," he said.

"Don't judge by appearances. In a new country people are careless of appearances. Some of these rough fellows, no doubt, have their pockets full of gold."

At this moment a rough-looking fellow stepped forward and said heartily:

"Isn't this Charles Folsom?"

"Yes," answered Folsom, puzzled.

"You don't remember me?" said the other, laughing.

"Not I."

"Not remember Harry Carter, your old chum?"

"Good Heaven!" exclaimed Folsom, surveying anew the rough figure before him. "You don't mean to say you are Harry Carter?"

"The same, at your service."

"What a transformation! Why, you used to be rather a swell and now——"

"Now I look like a barbarian."

"Well, rather," said Folsom, laughing.

"You want me to explain? Such toggery as I used to wear would be the height of folly at the mines."

"I hope you have had good luck," said Folsom.

"Pretty fair," said Carter, in a tone of satisfaction. "My pile has reached five thousand dollars."

"And how long have you been at work?"

"A year. I was a bookkeeper in New York on a salary of fifteen hundred dollars a year. I used to spend all my income—the more fool I—till the last six months, when I laid by enough to bring me out here."

"Then you have really bettered yourself?"

"I should say so. I could only save up five hundred dollars a year at the best in New York. Here I have crowded ten years into one."

"In spite of your large outlay for clothes?"

"I see you will have your joke. Now, what brings you out here? Are you going to the mines?"

"Presently, but not to dig. I came to survey the country."

"Let me do what I can for you."

"I will. First, what hotel shall I go to?"

"There is the Leidesdorff House, on California Street. I'll lead you there."

"Thank you. Will you come, Joe?"

"Yes, I will go to find out where it is."

The three bent their steps to the hotel referred to. It was a shanty compared with the magnificent hotels which now open their portals to strangers, but the charge was ten dollars a day and the fare was of the plainest.

"I guess I won't stop here," said Joe, "My money wouldn't keep me here more than an hour or two."

"At any rate, Joe, you must dine with me," said Folsom. "Then you may start out for yourself."

"You must dine with me, both of you," said Carter.

Folsom saw that he was in earnest, and accepted.

The dinner was plain but abundant, and all three did justice to it. Joe did not know till afterward that the dinner cost five dollars apiece.

After dinner the two friends sat down to talk over old times and mutual friends, but Joe felt that there was no time for him to lose. He had his fortune to make. Still more important, he had his living to make, and in a place where dollars were held as cheap as dimes in New York or Boston.

So, emerging into the street, with his small bundle under his arm, he bent his steps as chance directed.

CHAPTER XII JOE FINDS A JOB

Joe knew nothing about the streets or their names. Chance brought him to Clay Street, between what is now Montgomery and Kearny Streets. Outside of a low wooden building, which appeared to be a restaurant, was a load of wood.

"I wonder if I couldn't get the chance to saw and split that wood?" thought Joe.

It would not do to be bashful. So he went in.

A stout man in an apron was waiting on the guests. Joe concluded that this must be the proprietor.

"Sit down, boy," said he, "if you want some dinner."

"I've had my dinner," said Joe. "Don't you want that wood outside sawed and split?"

"Yes."

"Let me do it."

"Go ahead."

There was a saw and saw-horse outside. The work was not new to Joe, and he went at it vigorously. No bargain had been made, but Joe knew so little of what would be considered a fair price that in this first instance he chose to leave it to his employer.

As he was at work Folsom and his friend passed by.

"Have you found a job already?" said Folsom.

"Yes, sir."

"You have kept your promise, Joe. You said you would take the first job that offered."

"Yes, Mr. Folsom; I meant what I said."

"Come round to the Leidesdorff House this evening and tell me how you made out."

"Thank you, sir, I will."

"That seems a smart boy," said Carter.

"Yes, he is. Help him along if you have a chance."

"I will. I like his pluck."

"He has no false pride. He is ready to do anything."

"Everybody is here. You know Jim Graves, who used to have his shingle up as a lawyer on Nassau Street?"

"Yes. Is he here?"

"He has been here three months. What do you think he is doing?"

"I couldn't guess."

"I don't think you could. He has turned drayman." Charles Folsom gazed at his friend in wonder.

"Turned drayman!" he exclaimed. "Is he reduced to that?"

"Reduced to that! My dear fellow, you don't understand the use of language. Graves is earning fifteen dollars a day at his business, and I don't believe he made that in New York in a month."

"Well, it is a strange state of society. Does he mean to be a drayman all his life?"

"Of course not. A year hence he may be a capitalist, or a lawyer again. Meanwhile he is saving money."

"He is a sensible man, after all; but, you see, Carter, it takes time to adjust my ideas to things here. The first surprise was your rough appearance."

"There is one advantage my rough life has brought me," said Carter.
"It has improved my health. I was given to dyspepsia when I lived in
New York. Now I really believe I could digest a tenpenny nail,
or—an eating-house mince pie, which is more difficult."

"You have steep hills in San Francisco."

"Yes, it is something of a climb to the top of Clay Street Hill.
When you get to the top you get a fine view, though."

Now the hill may be ascended in cars drawn up the steeply graded sides by an endless rope running just below the surface. No such arrangement had been thought of then. Folsom gave out when he had completed half the ascent.

"I'll be satisfied with the prospect from here," he said.

Meanwhile Joe kept steadily at his task.

"It will take me three hours and a half, possibly four," he said to himself, after a survey of the pile. "I wonder what pay I shall receive."

While thus employed many persons passed him.

One among them paused and accosted him.

"So you have found work already?" he said.

Looking up, Joe recognized Harry Hogan, the man who had swindled him.
He didn't feel inclined to be very social with this man.

"Yes," said he coldly.

"Rather strange work for a first-class passenger."

He envied Joe because he had traveled first-class, while he had thought himself fortunate, with the help his dishonesty gave him, in being able to come by steerage.

"It is very suitable employment for a boy who has no money," said Joe.

"How much are you going to be paid for the job?" asked Hogan, with sudden interest, for ten dollars constituted his only remaining funds.

If his theft on shipboard had not been detected he would have been better provided.

"I don't know," said Joe shortly.

"You didn't make any bargain, then?"

"No."

"What are you going to do next?" inquired Hogan.

"I don't know," said Joe.

Hogan finally moved off.

"I hate that boy," he soliloquized. "He puts on airs for a country boy. So he's getting too proud to talk to me, is he? We'll see, Mr. Joseph Mason."

Joe kept on till his task was completed, put on his coat and went into the restaurant.

It was the supper-hour.

"I've finished the job," said Joe, in a businesslike tone.

The German took a look at Joe's work.

"You did it up good," he said. "How much you want?"

"I don't know. What would be a fair price?"

"I will give you some supper and five dollars."

Joe could hardly believe his ears. Five dollars and a supper for four hours' work! Surely he had come to the Land of Gold in very truth.

"Will dat do?"

"Oh, yes," said Joe. "I didn't expect so much."

"You shouldn't tell me dat. It isn't business."

Joe pocketed the gold piece which he received with a thrill of exultation. He had never received so much in value for a week's work before.