CHAPTER XVII
JOE STARTS IN BUSINESS
"Do you think you can keep a hotel, Joe?" asked Morgan.
"I can try," said Joe promptly.
"Come in, gentlemen," said the restaurant-keeper.
"We can talk best inside."
The room was small, holding but six tables. In the rear was the kitchen.
"Let me see your scale of prices," said Morgan.
It was shown him.
"I could breakfast cheaper at Delmonico's," he said.
"And better," said the proprietor of the restaurant; "but I find people here willing to pay big prices, and, as long as that's the case, I should be a fool to reduce them. Yes, there's a splendid profit to be made in the business. I ought to charge a thousand dollars, instead of five hundred."
"Why don't you?" asked Morgan bluntly.
"Because I couldn't get it. Most men, when they come out here, are not content to settle down in the town. They won't be satisfied till they get to the mines."
"That seems to be the case with you, too."
"It isn't that altogether. My lungs are weak and confinement isn't good for me. Besides, the doctors say the climate in the interior is better for pulmonary affections."
"What rent do you have to pay?"
"A small ground-rent. I put up this building myself."
"How soon can you give possession?"
"Right off."
"Will you stay here three days, to initiate my young friend into the mysteries of the business?"
"Oh, yes; I'll do that willingly."
"Then I will buy you out."
In five minutes the business was settled.
"Joe," said Morgan, "let me congratulate you. You are now one of the business men of San Francisco."
"It seems like a dream to me, Mr. Morgan," said Joe. "This morning when I waked up I wasn't worth a cent."
"And now you own five hundred dollars," said Mr. Morgan, laughing.
"That wasn't exactly the way I thought of it, sir, but are you not afraid to trust me to that amount?"
"No, I am not, Joe," said Morgan seriously. "I think you are a boy of energy and integrity. I don't see why you shouldn't succeed."
"Suppose I shouldn't?"
"I shall not trouble myself about the loss. In all probability, you saved my life last evening. That is worth to me many times what I have invested for you."
"I want to give you my note for the money," said Joe. "If I live, I will pay you, with interest."
"I agree with you. We may as well put it on a business basis."
Papers were drawn up, and Joe found himself proprietor of the restaurant. He lost no opportunity of mastering the details of the business. He learned where his predecessor obtained his supplies, what prices he paid, about how much he required for a day's consumption, and what was his scale of prices.
"Do you live here, Mr. Brock?" asked Joe.
"Yes; I have a bed, which I lay in a corner of the restaurant. Thus I avoid the expense of a room outside, and am on hand early for business."
"I'll do the same," said Joe promptly.
"In that way you will have no personal expenses, except clothing and washing," said Brock.
"I shall be glad to have no bills to pay for board," said Joe.
"That's rather a steep item here."
"So it is."
"I don't see but I can save up pretty much all I make," said Joe.
"Certainly you can."
In two days Joe, who was naturally quick and whose natural shrewdness was sharpened by his personal interest, mastered the details of the business, and felt that he could manage alone.
"Mr. Brock," said he, "you promised to stay with me three days, but I won't insist upon the third day. I think I can get along well without you."
"If you can, I shall be glad to leave you at once. The fact is, a friend of mine starts for the mines to-morrow, and I would like to accompany him. I asked him to put it off a day, but he thinks he can't."
"Go with him, by all means. I can get along."
So, on the morning of the third day, Joe found himself alone.
At the end of the first week he made a careful estimate of his expenses and receipts, and found, to his astonishment, that he had cleared two hundred dollars. It seemed to him almost incredible, and he went over the calculations again and again. But he could figure out no other result.
"Two hundred dollars in one week!" he said to himself. "What would Oscar say to that? It seems like a fairy tale."
Joe did not forget that he was five hundred dollars In debt. He went to George Morgan, who had bought out for himself a gentlemen's furnishing store, and said:
"Mr. Morgan, I want to pay up a part of that debt."
"So soon, Joe? How much do you want to pay?"
"A hundred and fifty dollars."
"You don't mean to say that you have cleared that amount?" said Morgan, in amazement.
"Yes, sir, and fifty dollars more."
"Very well. I will receive the money. You do well to wipe out your debts as soon as possible."
Joe paid over the money with no little satisfaction.
Without going too much into detail, it may be stated that at the end of a month Joe was out of debt and had three hundred dollars over. He called on the owner of the land to pay the monthly ground-rent.
"Why don't you buy the land, and get rid of the rent?" asked the owner.
"Do you want to sell?" asked Joe.
"Yes; I am about to return to the East."
"What do you ask?"
"I own two adjoining lots. You may have them all for a thousand dollars."
"Will you give me time?"
"I can't. I want to return at once, and I must have the cash."
A thought struck Joe.
"I will take three hours to consider," said Joe.
He went to George Morgan and broached his business.
"Mr. Morgan," he said, "will you lend me seven hundred dollars?"
"Are you getting into pecuniary difficulties, Joe?" asked Morgan, concerned.
"No, sir; but I want to buy some real estate."
"Explain yourself."
Joe did so.
"It is the best thing you can do," said Morgan, "I will lend you the money."
"I hope to repay it inside of two months," said Joe.
"I think you will, judging from what you have done already."
In two hours Joe had paid over the entire amount, for it will be remembered that he had three hundred dollars of his own, and was owner of three city lots.
"Now," thought he, "I must attend to business, and clear off the debt I have incurred. I shan't feel as if the land is mine till I have paid for it wholly."
Joe found it a great advantage that he obtained his own board and lodging free. Though wages were high, the necessary expenses of living were so large that a man earning five dollars a day was worse off oftentimes than one who was earning two dollars at the East.
"How shall I make my restaurant more attractive?" thought Joe.
He decided first that he would buy good articles and insist upon as much neatness as possible about the tables. At many of the restaurants very little attention was paid to this, and visitors who had been accustomed to neatness at home were repelled.
Soon Joe's dining-room acquired a reputation, and the patronage increased. At the end of the third month he had not only paid up the original loan of seven hundred dollars, but was the owner of the three lots, and had four hundred dollars over. He began to feel that his prosperity was founded on a solid basis.
One day about this time, as he was at the desk where he received money from his patrons as they went out, his attention was drawn to a rough fellow, having the appearance of a tramp, entering at the door. The man's face seemed familiar to him, and it flashed upon him that it was Henry Hogan, who had defrauded him in New York.
The recognition was mutual.
"You here?" he exclaimed, in surprise.
"So it seems," said Joe.
"Is it a good place?"
"I like it."
"Who's your boss?"
"Myself."
"You don't mean to say this is your own place?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, I'll be blowed!" ejaculated Hogan, staring stupidly at Joe.
CHAPTER XVIII
MR. HOGAN'S PROPOSAL
Joe enjoyed Hogan's amazement. He felt rather proud of his rapid progress. It was not four months since, a poor, country boy, he had come up to New York, and fallen a prey to a designing sharper. Now, on the other side of the continent, he was master of a business and owner of real estate.
The day has passed for such rapid progress. California is no longer a new country, and the conditions of living closely approximate those in the East. I am careful to say this because I don't wish to mislead my young readers. Success is always attainable by pluck and persistency, but the degree is dependent on circumstances.
"How have you made out?" asked Joe of his visitor.
"I've had hard luck," grumbled Hogan, "I went to the mines, but I wasn't lucky."
"Was that the case with other miners?" asked Joe, who had a shrewd suspicion that Hogan's ill luck was largely the result of his laziness and want of application.
"No," said Hogan. "Other men around me were lucky, but I wasn't."
"Perhaps your claim was a poor one."
"It was, as long as I had anything to do with it," said Hogan. "I sold it out for a trifle and the next day the other man found a nugget. Wasn't that cursed hard?" he grumbled.
"You ought to have kept on. Then you would have found the nugget."
"No, I shouldn't. I am too unlucky. If I had held on, it wouldn't have been there. You've got on well. You're lucky."
"Yes; I have no reason to complain. But I wasn't lucky all the time. I was robbed of every cent of money, when I met a good friend, who bought this business for me."
"Does it pay?" asked the other eagerly.
"Yes, it pays," said Joe cautiously.
"How much do you make, say, in a week?" asked Hogan, leaning his elbows on the counter and looking up in Joe's face.
"Really, Mr. Hogan," said Joe, "I don't feel called upon to tell my business to others."
"I thought maybe you'd tell an old friend," said Hogan.
Joe could not help laughing at the man's matchless impudence.
"I don't think you have treated me exactly like a friend, Mr. Hogan," he said. "You certainly did all you could to prevent my coming to California."
"There's some mistake about that," said Hogan.
"You're under a misapprehension; but I won't go into that matter now.
Will you trust me for my supper?"
"Yes," said Joe promptly. "Sit down at that table."
The man had treated him badly, but things had turned out favorably for Joe, and he would not let Hogan suffer from hunger, if he could relieve him.
Hogan needed no second invitation. He took a seat at a table near-by, and ate enough for two men, but Joe could not repeat the invitation he had given. He felt that he could not afford it.
It was rather late when Hogan sat down. When he finished, he was the only one left in the restaurant, except Joe. He sauntered up to the desk.
"You've got a good cook," said Hogan, picking his teeth with a knife.
"Yes," answered Joe. "I think so."
"You say the business pays well?"
"Yes; it satisfies me."
"Are you alone? Have you no partner?"
"You could do better with one. Suppose you take me into business with you?"
Joe was considerably surprised at this proposition from a man who had swindled him.
"How much capital can you furnish?" he asked.
"I haven't got any money. I'm dead broke," said Hogan, "but I can give my services. I can wait on the table. I'll do that, and you can give me my board and one-third of the profits. Come, now, that's a good offer. What do you say?"
Joe thought it best to be candid.
"I don't want any partner, Mr. Hogan," he said; "and I may as well tell you, I don't think I should care to be associated with you if I did."
"Do you mean to insult me?" asked Hogan, scowling.
"No; but I may as well be candid."
"What's the matter with me?" asked Hogan roughly.
"I don't like the way you do business," said Joe.
"Look here, young one, you put on too many airs just because you're keepin' a one-horse restaurant," said Hogan angrily.
"If it's a one-horse restaurant, why do you want to become my partner?" retorted Joe coolly.
"Because I'm hard up—I haven't got a cent."
"I'm sorry for you; but a man needn't be in that condition long here."
"Where do you sleep?" asked Hogan suddenly.
"Here. I put a bed on the floor in one corner, and so am on hand in the morning."
"I say," Hogan continued insinuatingly, "won't you let me stay here to-night?"
"Sleep here?"
"Yes."
"I'd rather not, Mr. Hogan."
"I haven't a cent to pay for a lodging. If you don't take me in, I shall have to stay in the street all night."
"You've slept out at the mines, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Then you can do it here."
"You're hard on a poor man," whined Hogan. "It wouldn't cost you anything to let me sleep here."
"No, it wouldn't," said Joe; "but I prefer to choose my own company at night."
"I may catch my death of cold," said Hogan.
"I hope not; but I don't keep lodgings," said Joe firmly.
"You haven't any feeling for an unlucky man."
"I have given you your supper, and not stinted you in any way. What you ate would cost two dollars at my regular prices. I wasn't called to do it, for you never did me any service, and you are owing me to-day fifty dollars, which you cheated me out of when I was a poor boy. I won't let you lodge here, but I will give you a breakfast in the morning, if you choose to come round. Then you will be strengthened for a day's work, and can see what you can find to do."
Hogan saw that Joe was in earnest and walked out of the restaurant, without a word.
When Joe was about to close his doors for the night his attention was drawn to a man who was sitting down on the ground, a few feet distant, with his head buried between his two hands, in an attitude expressive of despondency.
Joe was warm-hearted and sympathetic, and, after a moment's hesitation, addressed the stranger.
"Is anything the matter with you, sir?" he asked. "Don't you feel well?"
The man addressed raised his head. He was a stout, strongly built man, roughly dressed, but had a look which inspired confidence.
"I may as well tell you, boy," he answered, "though you can't help me. I've been a cursed fool, that's what's the matter."
"If you don't mind telling me," said Joe gently, "perhaps I can be of service to you."
The man shook his head.
"I don't think you can," he said, "but I'll tell you, for all that. Yesterday I came up from the mines with two thousand dollars. I was about a year getting it together, and to me it was a fortune. I'm a shoemaker by occupation, and lived in a town in Massachusetts, where I have a wife and two young children. I left them a year ago to go to the mines. I did well, and the money I told you about would have made us all comfortable, if I could only have got it home."
"Were you robbed of it?" asked Joe, remembering his own experience.
"Yes; I was robbed of it, but not in the way you are thinking of. A wily scoundrel induced me to enter a gambling-den, the Bella Union, they call it. I wouldn't play at first, but soon the fascination seized me. I saw a man win a hundred dollars, and I thought I could do the same, so I began, and won a little. Then I lost, and played on to get my money back. In just an hour I was cleaned out of all I had. Now I am penniless, and my poor family will suffer for my folly."
He buried his face in his hands once more and, strong man as he was, he wept aloud.
"Have you had any supper, sir?" said Joe compassionately.
"No; but I have no appetite."
"Have you any place to sleep?"
"No."
"Then I can offer you a supper and a night's lodging. Don't be discouraged. In the morning we can talk the matter over, and see what can be done."
The stranger rose and laid his hand on Joe's arm.
"I don't know how it is," he said, "but your words give me courage. I believe you have saved my life. I have a revolver left and I had a mind to blow my brains out."
"Would that have helped you or your family?"
"No, boy. I was a fool to think of it. I'll accept your offer, and to-morrow I'll see what I can do. You're the best friend I've met since I left home."
CHAPTER XIX
THE UNLUCKY MINER
Joe brought out some cold meat and bread and butter, and set it before his guest.
"The fire's gone out," he said, "or I would give you some tea. Here is a glass of milk, if you like it."
"Thank you, boy," said his visitor. "Milk is good enough for anybody. One thing I can say, I've steered clear of liquor. A brother of mine was intemperate and that was a warning to me. I took credit to myself for being a steady-going man, compared with many of my acquaintances out at the mines. But it don't do to boast. I've done worse, perhaps. I've gambled away the provision I had made for my poor family."
"Don't take it too hard," said Joe, in a tone of sympathy. "You know how it is out here. Down to-day and up to-morrow."
"It'll take me a long time to get up to where I was," said the other; "but it's my fault, and I must make the best of it."
Joe observed, with satisfaction, that his visitor was doing ample justice to the supper spread before him. With a full stomach, he would be likely to take more cheerful views of life and the future. In this thought Joe proved to be correct.
"I didn't think I could eat anything," said the miner, laying down his knife and fork, twenty minutes later, "but I have made a hearty supper, thanks to your kindness. Things look a little brighter to me now. I've had a hard pullback, but all is not lost. I've got to stay here a year or two longer, instead of going back by the next steamer; but I must make up my mind to that. What is your name, boy?"
"Joe Mason."
"You've been kind to me, and I won't forget it. It doesn't seem likely I can return the favor, but I'll do it if ever I can. Good night to you."
"Where are you going?" asked Joe, surprised, as the miner walked to the door.
"Out into the street."
"But where do you mean to pass the night?"
"Where a man without money must—in the street."
"But you mustn't do that."
"I shan't mind it. I've slept out at the mines many a night."
"But won't you find it more comfortable here?"
"Yes; but I don't want to intrude. You've given me a good supper and that is all I can expect."
"He doesn't seem much like Hogan," thought Joe.
"You are welcome to lodge here with me," he said. "It will cost you nothing and will be more comfortable for you."
"You don't know me, Joe," said the miner. "How do you know but I may get up in the night and rob you?"
"You could, but I don't think you will," said Joe. "I am not at all afraid of it. You look like an honest man."
The miner looked gratified.
"You shan't repent your confidence, Joe," he said.
"I'd rather starve than rob a good friend like you. But you mustn't trust everybody."
"I don't," said Joe. "I refused a man to-night—a man named Hogan."
"Hogan?"
"Yes."
"What does he look like?"
Joe described him.
"It's the very man," said the miner.
"Do you know him, then?"
"Yes; he was out at our diggings. Nobody liked him, or trusted him. He was too lazy to work, but just loafed around, complaining of his luck. One night I caught him in my tent, just going to rob me. I warned him to leave the camp next day or I'd report him, and the boys would have strung him up. That's the way they treat thieves out there."
"It doesn't surprise me to hear it," said Joe. "He robbed me of fifty dollars in New York."
"He did? How was that?"
Joe told the story.
"The mean skunk!" ejaculated Watson—for this Joe found to be the miners name. "It's mean enough to rob a man, but to cheat a poor boy out of all he has is a good deal meaner. And yet you gave him supper?"
"Yes. The man was hungry; I pitied him."
"You're a better Christian than I am. I'd have let him go hungry."
Both Joe and the miner were weary and they soon retired, but not to uninterrupted slumber. About midnight they were disturbed, as the next chapter will show.
CHAPTER XX
HOGAN MEETS A CONGENIAL SPIRIT
When Hogan left Joe's presence he was far from feeling as grateful as he ought for the kindness with which our hero had treated him. Instead of feeling thankful for the bountiful supper, he was angry because Joe had not permitted him to remain through the night. Had he obtained this favor, he would have resented the refusal to take him into partnership. There are some men who are always soliciting favors, and demanding them as a right, and Hogan was one of them.
Out in the street he paused a minute, undecided where to go. He had no money, as he had truly said, or he would have been tempted to go to a gambling-house, and risk it on a chance of making more.
"Curse that boy!" he muttered, as he sauntered along in the direction of Telegraph Hill. "Who'd have thought a green country clodhopper would have gone up as he has, while an experienced man of the world like me is out at the elbows and without a cent!"
The more Hogan thought of this, the more indignant he became.
He thrust both hands into his pantaloons pockets, and strode moodily on.
"I say it's a cursed shame!" he muttered. "I never did have any luck, that's a fact. Just see how luck comes to some. With only a dollar or two in his pocket, this Joe got trusted for a first-class passage out here, while I had to come in the steerage. Then, again, he meets some fool, who sets him up in business. Nobody ever offered to set me up in business!" continued Hogan, feeling aggrieved at Fortune for her partiality. "Nobody even offered to give me a start in life. I have to work hard, and that's all the good it does."
The fact was that Hogan had not done a whole day's work for years. But such men are very apt to deceive themselves and possibly he imagined himself a hard-working man.
"It's disgusting to see the airs that boy puts on," he continued to soliloquize. "It's nothing but luck. He can't help getting on, with everybody to help him. Why didn't he let me sleep in his place to-night? It wouldn't have cost him a cent."
Then Hogan drifted off into calculations of how much money Joe was making by his business. He knew the prices charged for meals and that they afforded a large margin of profit.
The more he thought of it, the more impressed he was with the extent of Joe's luck.
"The boy must be making his fortune," he said to himself. "Why, he can't help clearing from one to two hundred dollars a week—perhaps more. It's a money-making business, there's no doubt of it. Why couldn't he take me in as partner? That would set me on my legs again, and in time I'd be rich. I'd make him sell out, and get the whole thing after awhile."
So Hogan persuaded himself into the conviction that Joe ought to have accepted him as partner, though why this should be, since his only claim rested on his successful attempt to defraud him in New York, it would be difficult to conjecture.
Sauntering slowly along, Hogan had reached the corner of Pacific Street, then a dark and suspicious locality in the immediate neighborhood of a number of low public houses of bad reputation. The night was dark, for there was no moon.
Suddenly he felt himself seized in a tight grip, while a low, stern voice in his ear demanded:
"Your money, and be quick about it!"
Hogan was not a brave man, but this demand, in his impecunious condition, instead of terrifying him, struck his sense of humor as an exceedingly good joke.
"You've got the wrong man!" he chuckled.
"Stop your fooling, and hand over your money, quickly!" was the stern rejoinder.
"My dear friend," said Hogan, "if you can find any money about me, it's more than I can do myself."
"Are you on the square?" demanded the other suspiciously.
"Look at me, and see."
The highwayman took him at his word. Lighting a match, he surveyed his captive.
"You don't look wealthy, that's a fact," he admitted. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know. I haven't got any money, nor any place to sleep."
"Then you'd better be leaving this place, or another mistake may be made."
"Stop!" said Hogan, with a sudden thought. "Though I haven't any money, I can tell you where we can both find some."
"Do you mean it?"
"Yes."
"Come in here, then, and come to business."
He led Hogan into a low shanty on Pacific Street, and, bidding him be seated on a broken settee, waited for particulars.