“Yes,” said the man; “I’ve taken a steerage ticket to San Francisco.  Here it is.”

“All right.  Go in.”

He tore himself from Joe’s grasp and went on board the steamer.  Our hero, provoked, was about to follow him, when the officer said: 

“Stand back!  You have no ticket.”

“That man bought his ticket with my money.”

“That is nothing to me,” said the officer.  “It may be so, or you may be mistaken.”

“I am not mistaken,” said Joe.

“You can report it to the police—­that is, if you think you can prove it.  Now, stand back!”

Poor Joe!  He had been worsted in the encounter with this arch-swindler.  He would sail for San Francisco on the Columbus.  Perhaps he would make his fortune there, while Joe, whom he had so swindled, might, within three days, be reduced to beggary.

Joe felt that his confidence in human nature was badly shaken.  Injustice and fraud seemed to have the best of it in this world, so far as his experience went, and it really seemed as if dishonesty were the best policy.  It is a hard awakening for a trusting boy, when he first comes in contact with selfishness and corruption.

Joe fell back because he was obliged to.  He looked around, hoping that he might somewhere see a policeman, for he wanted to punish the scoundrel to whom he owed his unhappiness and loss.  But, as frequently happens, when an officer is wanted none is to be seen.

Joe did not leave the wharf.  Time was not of much value to him, and he decided that he might as well remain and see the steamer start on which he had fondly hoped to be a passenger.

Meanwhile, the preparations for departure went steadily forward.  Trunks arrived and were conveyed on board; passengers, accompanied by their friends, came, and all was hurry and bustle.

Two young men, handsomely dressed and apparently possessed of larger means than the great majority of the passengers, got out of a hack and paused close to where Joe was standing.

“Dick,” said one, “I’m really sorry you are not going with me.  I shall feel awfully lonely without you.”

“I am very much disappointed, Charlie, but duty will keep me at home.  My father’s sudden, alarming sickness has broken up all my plans.”

“Yes, Dick, of course you can’t go.”

“If my father should recover, in a few weeks, I will come out and join you, Charlie.”

“I hope you may be able to, Dick.  By the way, how about your ticket?”

“I shall have to lose it, unless the company will give me another in place of it.”

“They ought to do it.”

“Yes, but they are rather stiff about it.  I would sell it for a hundred dollars.”

Joe heard this and his heart beat high.

He pressed forward, and said eagerly: 

“Will you sell it to me for that?”

The young man addressed as Dick looked, in surprise, at the poorly dressed boy who had addressed him.