his side, leaning on his long rifle. "Do you
like her looks?"

"How are we to get on?" answered Charley. "Why, she's full already,
isn't she?"

The Fremont man nodded, and smiled.

"I expect she is. She's built to carry 500 and they'll put 1500 on
her. 'T isn't right--but it's the way they're doing, so as to make
money. We'll be lucky to find sleeping space on deck, and get enough
to eat. But everything goes, in the rush to California. If you think
these Atlantic steamers are big boats, you ought to see the steamers on
the other side."

"Are they better?"

"Considerably. The Pacific Mail Company runs them. They are better
and better managed; but those boats'll be packed, too. All we can do
is to make the best of it, after we've paid our money."

"Are you going on the _Georgia_?" hopefully asked Charley.

The Fremont man nodded.

"I'll go if I can find a six-foot space to lie down on--and I reckon I
will."

The _Georgia_ docked. A number of passengers hustled off, and then
began the rush aboard. How the gold seekers shoved and scrambled and
fought! The gangway was a mass of shoulders and hats and blanket rolls.

"Coming on?" invited the Fremont man, to Charley.

Charley hesitated. He was impatient, but he didn't know----

"I'm waiting for my father," he explained.

"We'd better find our places while we can, and have one ready for him,"
prompted the Fremont man.

He picked up the bed rolls, and hurried ahead, Charley at his heels.
At the rail an official glanced at his ticket, and waved him to the
upper deck. Charley followed. The ticket gave first-class cabin
privileges, but what did these amount to, when 1500 passengers were
being crowded upon a 500-passenger boat? Even standing room seemed to
be valuable.

They pushed along through the mass of passengers and friends and
relatives, who acted, some of them, too dazed and confused to move
aside, and mounted the stairs leading to the upper decks. When they
emerged into the open air, the Fremont man paused uncertainly, puffing,
to survey the outlook.

"There's no chance for a berth, I suppose, is there?" he asked, of a
clerk, passing.

The clerk scanned him impudently.

"No, sir. Every berth was taken before we left New York."

"Then why did the company sell us tickets?"

"That, sir," said the clerk, with an irritating smile, "is none of my
business." And he hurried away.

"Well, we might as well begin to rough it now as any