nds, but Joe felt that there was no time for him to lose.
He had his fortune to make. Still more important, he had his living
to make, and in a place where dollars were held as cheap as dimes in
New York or Boston.

So, emerging into the street, with his small bundle under his arm, he
bent his steps as chance directed.

CHAPTER XII

JOE FINDS A JOB

Joe knew nothing about the streets or their names. Chance brought
him to Clay Street, between what is now Montgomery and Kearny
Streets. Outside of a low wooden building, which appeared to be a
restaurant, was a load of wood.

"I wonder if I couldn't get the chance to saw and split that wood?"
thought Joe.

It would not do to be bashful. So he went in.

A stout man in an apron was waiting on the guests. Joe concluded
that this must be the proprietor.

"Sit down, boy," said he, "if you want some dinner."

"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
drayma