well, sir."
Joe left the room, his face flushed and his heart full of indignation at the slight which had been attempted on him.
"It is Oscar's doings, I have no doubt," he said to himself. "It is like his meanness. He meant to mortify me."
If there had been any doubt in Joe's mind, it would soon have been cleared up. Oscar had been lying in wait for his appearance, and managed to meet him as he went out into the yard.
"Where are your new clothes?" he asked mockingly.
"I have none," answered Joe.
"Didn't my father give you a suit of mine?"
"He offered me the suit which you stained so badly with acid."
"Well, it's pretty good," said Oscar patronizingly. "I only wore it about a month."
"Why don't you wear it longer?"
"Because it isn't fit for me to wear," returned Oscar.
"Nor for me," said Joe.
"You don't mean to say you've declined?" exclaimed Oscar, in surprise.
"That is exactly what I have done."
"Why?"
"You ought to know why."
"It is better than the one you have on."
"It is too small for me. Besides, it would attract general attention."
"Seems to me somebody is getting proud," sneered Oscar. "Perhaps you think Annie Raymond wouldn't walk with you in that suit?"
"I think it would make ho difference to her," said Joe. "She was willing to walk with me in this ragged suit."
"I don't admire her taste."
"She didn't walk with my clothes; she walked with me."
"A hired boy!"
"Yes, I am a hired boy; but I don't get very good pay."
"You feel above your business, that's what's the matter with you."
"I hope some time to get higher than my business," said Joe. "I mean to rise in the world, if I can."
Oscar shrugged his shoulders.
"Perhaps you would like to be a wealthy merchant, or a member of Congress," he said.
"I certainly should."
Oscar burst into a sneering laugh, and left Joe alone.
Joe's work was done, and, being left free to do as he liked, he strolled over to the village store.
CHAPTER III
The village store, in the evening, was a sort of village club-house, where not only the loungers, but a better class, who desired to pass the evening socially, were wont to congregate. About the center of the open space was a large box-stove, which in winter was kept full of wood, ofttimes getting red-hot, and around this sat the villagers. Some on wooden chairs, some on a wooden settee, with a broken back, which was ranged on one side.
Joe frequently came here in the evening to pass a social hour and kill time. At the house of Major Norton he had no company. Oscar felt above him, and did not deign to hold any intercourse with his father's drudge, while the housekeeper—Major Norton being a widower—was busy about her own special work, and would have wondered at Joe if he had sought her company. I make this explanation because I do not wish it to be understood that Joe was a common village lounger, or loafer.
When Joe entered the store he found the usual company present, but with one addition.
This was Seth Larkin, who had just returned from California, whither he had gone eighteen months before, and was, of course, an object of great attention, and plied with numerous questions by his old acquaintances in regard to the land of promise in the far West, of which all had heard so much.
It was in the fall of the year 1851, and so in the early days of California.
Seth was speaking as Joe entered.
"Is there gold in California?" repeated Seth, apparently in answer to a question. "I should say there was. Why, it's chock full of it. People haven't begun to find out the richness of the country. It's the place for a poor man to go if he wants to become rich. What's the prospects here? I ask any one of you. A man may go working and plodding from one year's end to another and not have ten dollars at the end of it. There's some here that know that I speak the truth."
"How much better can a man do in California?" asked Daniel Tompkins.
"Well, Dan," said Seth, "it depends on the kind of man he is. If he's a man like you, that spends his money for rum as fast as he gets it, I should say it's just as well to stay here. But if he's willing to work hard, and to put by half he makes, he's sure to do well, and he may get rich. Why, I knew a man that landed in California the same day that I did, went up to the mines, struck a vein, and—well, how much do you think that man is worth to-day?"
"A thousand dollars?" suggested Dan Tompkins.
"Why, I'm worth more than that myself, and I wasn't lucky, and had the rheumatism for four months. You'll have to go higher."
"Two thousand?" guessed Sam Stone.
"We don't make much account of two thousand dollars in the mines, Sam," said Seth.
"It's of some account here," said Sam. "I've been workin' ten years, and I ain't saved up a third of it."
"I don't doubt it," said Seth; "and it ain't your fault, either. Money's scarce round here, and farmin' don't pay. You know what I was workin' at before I went out—in a shoe shop. I just about made a poor livin', and that was all. I didn't have money enough to pay my passage out, but I managed to borrow it. Well, it's paid now, and I've got something left."
"You haven't told us yet how much the man made that you was talkin' about," said Tom Sutter. "It couldn't be five thousand dollars, now, could it?"
"I should say it could," said Seth.
"Was it any more?" inquired Dan Tompkins.
"Well, boys, I s'pose I may as well tell you, and you may b'lieve it or not, just as you like. That man is worth twenty thousand dollars to-day."
There was a chorus of admiring ejaculations.
"Twenty thousand dollars! Did you ever hear the like?"
"Mind, boys, I don't say it's common to make so much money in so short a time. There isn't one in ten does it, but some make even more. What I do say is, that a feller that's industrious, and willin' to work, an' rough it, and save what he makes, is sure to do well, if he keeps well. That's all a man has a right to expect, or to hope for."
"To be sure it is."
"What made you come home, Seth, if you were gettin' on so well?" inquired one.
"That's a fair question," said Seth, "and I'm willin' to answer it. It was because of the rheumatics. I had 'em powerful bad at the mines, and I've come home to
