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The Young Miner; or, Tom Nelson in California, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 20. At Sacramento |
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_ CHAPTER XX. AT SACRAMENTO After his escape from the grizzly Tom had no further adventures of an exciting character. One afternoon he and his companions arrived at Sacramento. It was but a small settlement, but was more town-like than any place they had yet seen in California. They drove to a two-story frame building, which was the chief hotel in the town. Taking the precaution to inquire the price of board and lodging, they were dismayed by the extravagance of the charges. Tom saw that his reserve fund of twenty dollars would scarcely last him forty-eight hours. "I can't stay here, Mr. Ferguson," he said. "I will take my chances and camp out, if necessary." "I agree with you, lad; I'm not inclined to waste my substance on luxurious living." "There won't be much luxurious living, I guess," said Ebenezer Onthank, who, with Yankee curiosity, had already visited the kitchen and obtained some idea of the fare to be expected. "I kin get better board at Green Mountain Mills for three dollars a week, and folks are darned glad to accommodate you for that price. These chaps seem to think and act as if we were made of money." "I wish some of your Green Mountain Mills boarding-houses were here," said Tom. "I could save plenty of money then." "Well, gentlemen, do you want to stay here?" inquired the landlord. "We'd like to, squire, but not bein' millionaires I guess we'll have to put it off till times are better." "Just as you say," said the landlord, indifferently. "There's others waiting for the only room I have empty." Then, noticing for the first time the express wagon which Tom had left outside, he asked, in a tone of interest, "Who owns that team?" "It belongs to this boy and myself," answered Ferguson. "Where did it come from?" "The States." "You don't want to sell, do you?" Tom was about to reply in the affirmative, but the Scot, more shrewd, answered indifferently, "We may sell it when we get to San Francisco." "I need just such a team as that," said the landlord, eagerly. "I'll give you a good price for it. You can go down the river to Frisco." "I suppose we might," said Ferguson, slowly, "if it was worth our while." "What'll you take, cash down?" inquired the landlord, earnestly. "Nay, my friend, I prefer to hear your views as to the price." "I will give you eight hundred dollars for the wagon." This was certainly an excellent profit, for but three hundred had been paid for horse and wagon. Tom's heart beat fast with excitement, for he remembered that one-third of the money would come to him. If it had depended upon him he would have clinched the bargain at once, but he wisely left the matter in the hands of his companion and partner. "That seems a fair offer," said Ferguson; "but I think we may as well wait till we reach San Francisco. Besides, we want to sell the horse, too." "I will give you a thousand dollars for the two," said the landlord. A man with his pantaloons tucked in his boots, a coarse woolen shirt, and a wide-brimmed sombrero, which overshadowed a face bearing a beard of a week's growth, was leaning against the door-post. "Landlord," said he, "I see your price, and I'll go two hundred better." Tom stared at the speaker in surprise. He looked like a man who would have found it hard to raise twelve dollars, yet he had made an offer of twelve hundred. Our hero did not learn till afterwards that the man had "struck it rich" at the mines, sold out his claim for ten thousand dollars, and for the time being was the lucky possessor of a large bank account. "Now, Tom Scott," expostulated the landlord, "this ain't fair. I want the wagon more'n you do, and you're a-raisin' the price on me." "How do you know that?" drawled Scott. "I've got a pile, and I mean to take it easy while it lasts. I'm going back to the mines like a gentleman, with my own team, you bet, if I've got money enough to buy one." The landlord was satisfied that, if he wanted the team, he must outbid his competitor, and advanced his offer to thirteen hundred dollars. But Tom Scott was not terrified. His money had come easily, and he would not let two or three hundred dollars stand in the way of his wishes. "I'll go fifteen," he drawled. The landlord shrugged his shoulders, and said, in a disappointed tone, "You'll have to take it, Scott. You've gone ahead of my pile." "Well, stranger, is it a bargain?" asked Scott. The Scotchman, though inwardly elated as well as astonished at the extraordinary offer he had received, answered quietly, "If my partner agrees." "I guess we'd better sell," said Tom, trying not to betray his inward satisfaction. "All right," said Scott, appearing to be well pleased. "You can have your money when you want it. If you are going to Frisco, I'll give you an order on my banker there." "Tom Scott's a square man, and his order will fetch the money," said the landlord, observing Ferguson's prudent hesitation. "That is satisfactory," replied Ferguson. In five minutes more the business was concluded, and Ferguson and Tom, longing to congratulate each other on their good fortune, walked off together. "We're in luck, Mr. Ferguson," said Tom. "I don't know whether I stand on my head or my heels. I never expected such a price." "Twelve hundred dollars is a great profit," said Ferguson. "I almost doubt whether we are justified in asking such an extortionate price of the poor man." "He is pleased with his bargain, and I don't think we need to trouble ourselves about that," answered Tom. "Besides, you know we can't compare prices with those at home." "No doubt there is reason in what you say, my lad; but it's not easy at first to make allowance for the difference." "That's so, Mr. Ferguson. When shall we go to San Francisco?" "We will go to-morrow, if we can. I suppose you will wish to send some money to your father." "Yes, I am in a hurry to send to him, for I am sure he needs it already. I can hardly realize that I am worth five hundred dollars." "Five hundred?" "Yes, I had a third share in the team." "That isn't my way of looking at it, Tom." "Is it possible Mr. Ferguson would cheat me out of my fair share?" thought Tom, but he only harbored the suspicion for an instant. He had seen too much of his friend to believe such a thing, and he quietly waited for an explanation. "I'll tell you how I propose that we divide it, Tom. First we'll take out the money each of us put in, one hundred for you and two hundred for me, and then we'll divide the profit equally." "But," protested Tom, "you are entitled to two-thirds." "Then I won't take it," said Ferguson, decidedly. "I only want half of the profit. That will give me eight hundred dollars, and that ought to satisfy me." "And I shall have seven hundred," said Tom, his eyes sparkling. "Precisely." "How kind you are, Mr. Ferguson!" exclaimed Tom, eagerly seizing the Scotchman's hand. "No, my lad; I am only just. I am glad to help a boy who is working for his father and family." "I shouldn't deserve to succeed if I didn't," said Tom, earnestly. "Always bear that in mind, my lad, and God will smile on your efforts, and raise you up friends." In spite of the high price, Tom and his partner felt justified now in stopping over night at the hotel where they had met with such a piece of good luck, and the next day started down the river for San Francisco. _ |
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