Digging for Gold 18
CHAPTER XVI.
GRANT GETS A JOB.
An hour later Grant was surprised to come across Tom sawing and
splitting wood in front of a restaurant.
“What are you doing, Tom?” he asked, in surprise.
“Earning some money,” answered Tom complacently.
“How much will you get for the job?” asked Grant.
“Three dollars and my dinner. It won’t take me more than three hours to
finish up the job. What do you think of that?”
“I’d like a job like it. I’m getting alarmed at the high prices here in
Sacramento. I don’t know what I am going to do.”
“How much have you got left?”
“Only nine dollars, and it will cost me that to get to the nearest
mines.”
“That’s bad!” said Tom, looking perplexed. “Perhaps father’ll lend you
some.”
Grant shook his head.
“I don’t want to borrow of him,” he said. “He will have all he can do to
look out for himself and your mother.”
“I don’t know but he will.”
“I guess I’ll get along somehow,” said Grant, with assumed cheerfulness.
“If I can help you, Grant, I will; but it isn’t like being out on the
plains. It didn’t cost so much there for living.”
At this point a stout man came to the door of the restaurant. It was the
proprietor.
“How are you getting on with the wood?” he asked Tom.
“Pretty well.”
“Whenever you want your dinner you can stop short and come in.”
“Thank you. I took a late breakfast, and will finish the job first.”
“Who is the boy—your brother?”
“No; it’s a friend of mine.”
“Do you want a job?” asked the proprietor, turning to Grant.
“Yes, if it’s anything I can do.”
“One of my waiters has left me and gone to the mines. The rascal left
without notice, and I am short-handed. Did you ever wait in a
restaurant?”
“No, sir.”
“Never mind, you’ll soon learn. Will you take the job?”
“How much do you pay?”
“Three dollars a day and board.”
“I’ll take it,” said Grant promptly.
“Come right in, then.”
Grant followed his new employer into the Eldorado restaurant, and
received instructions. It may seem easy enough to wait on guests at an
eating-house, but, like everything else, an apprenticeship is needful.
Here, however, it was easier than in a New York or Chicago restaurant,
as the bill of fare was limited, and neither the memory nor the hands
were taxed as severely as would have been the case elsewhere. Grant was
supplied with an apron, and began work at once. When Tom got through his
job, and came in for dinner it was Grant who waited upon him.
Tom smiled.
“It seems queer to have you waiting upon me, Grant,” he said. “How do
you like it as far as you’ve got?”
“There’s other things I would like better, Tom, but I think I’m lucky to
get this.”
“Yes; yours is a more permanent job than mine. I’m through.”
“Just tell your father and mother where I am,” said Grant. “I hear I’m
to sleep in the restaurant.”
“That’ll save the expense of a bed. How long do you think you’ll keep at
it, Grant?”
“A month, perhaps, if I suit well enough. By that time I’ll have money
enough to go to the mines.”
“Then you haven’t given that up?”
“No; I came out to California to dig gold, and I shan’t be satisfied
till I get at it.”
When meal hours were over that afternoon Grant started out for a stroll
through the town. As he was passing the Morning Star saloon a rough,
bearded fellow, already under the influence of liquor, seized him by the
arm.
“Come in, boy, and have a drink,” he said.
Grant shrank from him with a repugnance he could not conceal.
“No, thank you!” he answered. “I don’t drink.”
“But you’ve got to drink,” hiccoughed his new acquaintance.
In reply Grant tried to tear himself away, but he could not release the
strong grip the man had on his coat-sleeve.
“Come along, boy; it’s no use. Do you want to insult me?”
“No, I don’t,” said Grant; “but I never drink.”
“Are you a temperance sneak?” was the next question. “Don’t make no
difference. When Bill Turner wants you to drink, you must drink—or
fight. Want to fight?”
“No.”
“Then come in.”
Against his will Grant was dragged into the saloon, where half a dozen
fellows were leaning against the bar.
CHAPTER XVII.
AN UNPLEASANT ADVENTURE.
“Couple of whiskeys—straight—for me and the kid,” ordered Grant’s
companion, as he came to a standstill in front of the bar.
“None for me!” said Grant quickly.
But, all the same, two glasses were set out, and the bottle placed
beside them.
“Pour it out!” said the miner to the barkeeper. “I’m afraid the boy will
get away.”
The barkeeper, with a smile, followed directions, and the two glasses
were filled.
The miner tossed his off at a single gulp, but Grant left his standing.
“Why don’t you drink, boy?” demanded his companion, with an oath.
“I told you I wouldn’t,” said Grant angrily.
“We’ll see if you won’t,” said the miner, and, seizing the glass, he
attempted to pour it down Grant’s throat, but his arm was unsteady from
the potations he had already indulged in, and the whiskey was spilled,
partly on the floor, and partly on the boy’s clothes. Grant seized this
opportunity to dash out of the saloon, with the miner after him.
Fortunately for him, Bill Turner, as he called himself, tripped and
fell, lying prostrate for a moment, an interval which Grant improved to
so good purpose that, by the time the miner was again on his feet, he
was well out of harm’s way.
“I thought the drinking habit was bad enough at home,” thought Grant;
“but no one ever tried to _make_ me drink before.”
And now we will go back and see how it fared with Mr. Cooper.
Some quarter of a mile from the Metropolitan Hotel and Restaurant his
attention was drawn to a blacksmith’s shop. That was his own line of
business, and he felt a curiosity to interview his California
brother-workman.
Entering, he saw a stout, black-bearded man in the act of shoeing a
horse.
“Good-morning, friend,” he said.
“Good-morning, stranger.”
“I thought I’d take a look in, as you are in my line of business.”
“Is that so?” asked the blacksmith, looking up with interest. “How long
since you arrived?”
“Just got in this morning.”
“Going to stay in Sacramento?”
“I am ready for anything that will bring money. I suppose I shall go to the mines.”
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