Joe's Luck

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.”