The afternoon slipped away almost without Joe’s knowledge.  He walked about, here and there, gazing with curious eyes at the streets, and warehouses, and passing vehicles, and thinking what a lively place New York was, and how different life was in the metropolis from what it had been to him in the quiet country town which had hitherto been his home.  Somehow it seemed to wake Joe up, and excite his ambition, to give him a sense of power which he had never felt before.

“If I could only get a foothold here,” thought Joe, “I should be willing to work twice as hard as I did on the farm.”

This was what Joe thought.  I don’t say that he was correct.  There are many country boys who make a mistake in coming to the city.  They forsake quiet, comfortable homes, where they have all they need, to enter some city counting-room, or store, at starvation wages, with, at best, a very remote prospect of advancement and increased risk of falling a prey to temptation in some of the many forms which it assumes in a populous town.  A boy needs to be strong, and self-reliant, and willing to work if he comes to the city to compete for the prizes of life.  As the story proceeds, we shall learn whether Joe had these necessary qualifications.

When supper was over he went into the public room of the Commercial Hotel, and took up a paper to read.  There was a paragraph about California, and some recent discoveries there, which he read with avidity.

Though Joe was not aware of it, he was closely observed by a dark-complexioned man, dressed in rather a flashy manner.  When our hero laid down the paper this man commenced a conversation.

“I take it you are a stranger in the city, my young friend?” he observed, in an affable manner.

“Yes, sir,” answered Joe, rather glad to have some one to speak to.  “I only arrived this morning.”

“Indeed!  May I ask from what part of the country you come?”

“From Oakville, New Jersey.”

“Indeed!  I know the place.  It is quite a charming town.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Joe.  “It’s pretty quiet and dull—­nothing going on.”

“So you have come to the city to try your luck?”

“I want to go to California.”

“Oh, I see—­to the gold-diggings.”

“Have you ever been there, sir?”

“No; but I have had many friends go there.  When do you expect to start?”

“Why, that is what puzzles me,” Joe replied frankly.  “I may not be able to go at all.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t got money enough to buy a ticket.”

“You have got some money, haven’t you?”

“Yes—­I have fifty dollars; but I need that a hundred dollars is the lowest price for a ticket.”

“Don’t be discouraged, my young friend,” said the stranger, in the most friendly manner.  “I am aware that the ordinary charge for a steerage ticket is one hundred dollars, but exceptions are sometimes made.”