money."

"The boy must be crazy," said the swindler.

"Did you sell him that ticket?" inquired the officer.

"Never saw him before in my life."

"Ain't you mistaken, boy?" asked the officer.

"No, sir. This is the very man."

"Have you any business here?" asked the officer.

"Yes," said the man; "I've taken a steerage ticket to San Francisco.
Here it is."

"All right. Go in."

He tore himself from Joe's grasp and went on board the steamer. Our
hero, provoked, was about to follow him, when the officer said:

"Stand back! You have no ticket."

"That man bought his ticket with my money."

"That is nothing to me," said the officer. "It may be so, or you may
be mistaken."

"I am not mistaken," said Joe.

"You can report it to the police--that is, if you think you can prove
it. Now, stand back!"

Poor Joe! He had been worsted in the encounter with this
arch-swindler. He would sail for San Francisco on the Columbus.
Perhaps he would make his fortune there, while Joe, whom he had so
swindled, might, within three days, be reduced to beggary.

Joe felt that his confidence in human nature was badly shaken.
Injustice and fraud seemed to have the best of it in this world, so
far as his experience went, and it really seemed as if dishonesty
were the best policy. It is a hard awakening for a trusting boy,
when he first comes in contact with selfishness and corruption.

Joe fell back because he was obliged to. He looked around, hoping
that he might somewhere see a policeman, for he wanted to punish the
scoundrel to whom he owed his unhappiness and loss. But, as
frequently happens, when an officer is wanted none is to be seen.

Joe did not leave the wharf. Time was not of much value to him, and
he decided that he might as well remain and see the steamer start on
which he had fondly hoped to be a passenger.

Meanwhile, the preparations for departure went steadily forward.
Trunks arrived and were conveyed on board; passengers, accompanied by
their friends, came, and all was hurry and bustle.

Two young men, handsomely dressed and apparently possessed of larger
means than the great majority of the passengers, got out of a hack
and paused close to where Joe was standing.

"Dick," said one, "I'm really sorry you are not going with me. I
shall feel awfully lonely without you."

"I am very much disappointed, Charlie, but duty will keep me at home.
My father's sudden, alarming sickness has broken up al