“By Jove!” said Morgan, in surprise, his glance resting on a young man of twenty-five, who was in command of a dray.  “Do you hear that drayman?”

“Is he a foreigner?” asked Joe.  “I don’t understand what he is saying.”

“He is talking to his horse in Greek, quoting from Homer.  Look here, my friend!” he said, hailing the drayman.

“What is it, sir?” said the young man courteously.

“Didn’t I hear you quoting Greek just now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How happens it that a classical scholar like you finds himself in such a position?”

The young man smiled.

“How much do you think I am earning?”

“I can’t guess.  I am a stranger in this city.”

“Twenty dollars a day.”

“Capital!  I don’t feel as much surprised as I did.  Are you a college graduate?”

“Yes, sir.  I was graduated at Yale.  Then I studied law and three months since I came out here.  It takes time to get into practise at home and I had no resources to fall back upon.  I raised money enough to bring me to California and came near starving the first week I was here.  I couldn’t wait to get professional work, but I had an offer to drive a dray.  I am a farmer’s son and was accustomed to hard work as a boy.  I accepted the offer and here I am.  I can lay up half my earnings and am quite satisfied.”

“But you won’t be a drayman all your life?”

“Oh, no, sir.  But I may as well keep at it till I can get into something more to my taste.”

And the young lawyer drove off.

“It’s a queer country,” said Morgan.  “It’s hard to gauge a man by his occupation here, I see.”

“I wish I could get a dray to drive,” said Joe.

“You are not old enough or strong enough yet.  I am looking for some business myself, Joe, but I can’t at all tell what I shall drift into.  At home I was a dry-goods merchant.  My partner and I disagreed and I sold out to him.  I drew ten thousand dollars out of the concern, invested four-fifths of it, and have come out here with the remainder, to see what I can do.”

“Ten thousand dollars!  What a rich man you must be!” said Joe.

“In your eyes, my boy.  As you get older, you will find that it will not seem so large to you.  At any rate, I hope to increase it considerably.”

They were walking on Kearny Street, near California Street, when
Joe’s attention was drawn, to a sign: 

  This restaurant for Sale

It was a one-story building, of small dimensions, not fashionable, nor elegant in its appointments, but there wasn’t much style in San Francisco at that time.

“Would you like to buy out the restaurant?” asked Morgan.

“I don’t feel like buying anything out with empty pockets,” said Joe.

“Let us go in.”

The proprietor was a man of middle age.