“I’ve had my dinner,” said Joe.  “Don’t you want that wood outside sawed and split?”

“Yes.”

“Let me do it.”

“Go ahead.”

There was a saw and saw-horse outside.  The work was not new to Joe, and he went at it vigorously.  No bargain had been made, but Joe knew so little of what would be considered a fair price that in this first instance he chose to leave it to his employer.

As he was at work Folsom and his friend passed by.

“Have you found a job already?” said Folsom.

“Yes, sir.”

“You have kept your promise, Joe.  You said you would take the first job that offered.”

“Yes, Mr. Folsom; I meant what I said.”

“Come round to the Leidesdorff House this evening and tell me how you made out.”

“Thank you, sir, I will.”

“That seems a smart boy,” said Carter.

“Yes, he is.  Help him along if you have a chance.”

“I will.  I like his pluck.”

“He has no false pride.  He is ready to do anything.”

“Everybody is here.  You know Jim Graves, who used to have his shingle up as a lawyer on Nassau Street?”

“Yes.  Is he here?”

“He has been here three months.  What do you think he is doing?”

“I couldn’t guess.”

“I don’t think you could.  He has turned drayman.”  Charles Folsom gazed at his friend in wonder.

“Turned drayman!” he exclaimed.  “Is he reduced to that?”

“Reduced to that!  My dear fellow, you don’t understand the use of language.  Graves is earning fifteen dollars a day at his business, and I don’t believe he made that in New York in a month.”

“Well, it is a strange state of society.  Does he mean to be a drayman all his life?”

“Of course not.  A year hence he may be a capitalist, or a lawyer again.  Meanwhile he is saving money.”

“He is a sensible man, after all; but, you see, Carter, it takes time to adjust my ideas to things here.  The first surprise was your rough appearance.”

“There is one advantage my rough life has brought me,” said Carter.  “It has improved my health.  I was given to dyspepsia when I lived in New York.  Now I really believe I could digest a tenpenny nail, or—­an eating-house mince pie, which is more difficult.”

“You have steep hills in San Francisco.”

“Yes, it is something of a climb to the top of Clay Street Hill.  When you get to the top you get a fine view, though.”

Now the hill may be ascended in cars drawn up the steeply graded sides by an endless rope running just below the surface.  No such arrangement had been thought of then.  Folsom gave out when he had completed half the ascent.

“I’ll be satisfied with the prospect from here,” he said.

Meanwhile Joe kept steadily at his task.

“It will take me three hours and a half, possibly four,” he said to himself, after a survey of the pile.  “I wonder what pay I shall receive.”