CHAPTER XXII.
THE YOUNG MAN FROM BOSTON.
Soon after leaving St. Joe, the emigrant train which Tom had joined,entered the territory of Kansas. At that early day the settlement ofthis now prosperous State had scarcely begun. Its rich soil was as yetunvexed by the plow and the spade, and the tall prairie grass and virginforest stretched for many and many a mile westward in undisturbedloneliness.
One afternoon, toward the setting of the sun, the caravan halted on thesite of the present capital of the State, Topeka. The patient oxen,wearied with the twenty miles they had traveled, were permitted tograze. The ten baggage wagons or "ships of the plain," as they weresometimes called--came to anchor in a sea of verdure. They were rangedin a circle, the interior space being occupied as a camping-ground. Thenbegan preparations for supper. Some of the party were sent for water. Afire was built, and the travelers, with a luxurious enjoyment of rest,sank upon the grass.
Donald Ferguson looked thoughtfully over the vast expanse of unsettledprairie, and said to Tom, "It's a great country, Tom. There seems no endto it."
"That's the way I felt when I was plodding along to-day through themud," said Tom, laughing.
"It's because the soil is so rich," said the Scotchman. "It'll be agreat farming country some day, I'm thinking."
"I suppose the soil isn't so rich in Scotland, Mr. Ferguson?"
"No, my lad. It's rocky and barren, and covered with dry heather; but itproduces rare men, for all that."
Mr. Ferguson was patriotic to the backbone. He would not claim forScotland what she could not fairly claim; but he was all ready with somecompensating claim.
"How do you stand the walking, Mr. Ferguson?"
"I'm getting used to it."
"Then it's more than I am. I think it's beastly."
These words were not uttered by Tom, but by rather a dandified-lookingyoung man, who came up limping. He was from Boston, and gave his name asLawrence Peabody. He had always lived in Boston, where he had beenemployed in various genteel avocations; but in an evil hour he had beenlured from his comfortable home by the seductive cry of gold, and,laying down his yardstick, had set out for California across the plains.He was a slender young man, with limbs better fitted for dancing thanfor tramping across the prairie, and he felt bitterly the fatigue of thejourney.
"Are you tired, Mr. Peabody?" asked Tom.
"I am just about dead. I didn't bargain for walking all the way acrossthe prairies. Why couldn't old Fletcher let me ride?"
"The oxen have had all they could do to-day to draw the wagons throughthe mud."
"Look at those boots," said the Bostonian ruefully, pointing to a pairof light calfskin boots, which were so overlaid with mud that it washard to tell what was their original color. "I bought those boots inBoston only two weeks ago. Everybody called them stylish. Now they areabsolutely disreputable."
"It seems to me, my friend," said the Scotchman, "that you did not showmuch sagacity in selecting such boots for your journey. My young friend,Tom, is much better provided."
"His boots are cowhide," said Mr. Lawrence Peabody disdainfully. "Doyou think I would wear cowhide boots?"
"You would find them more serviceable, Mr. Peabody," said Tom. "Besides,I don't believe anybody could tell the difference now."
"How much did you pay for them?" asked the Bostonian.
"A dollar and a half."
"Humph! I thought so," returned Peabody contemptuously. "We don't wearcowhide boots in Boston."
"You are not in Boston now."
"I wish I was," said Peabody energetically. "I wouldn't have started ifI had known what was before me. I expected to travel like a gentleman,instead of wading through this cursed mud till I'm ready to drop. Lookat my pantaloons, all splashed with mire. What would my friends say if Ishould appear in this rig on Washington Street?"
"They might take you for a bog-trotter," said Tom, smiling.
"I have always been particular about my appearance," said Peabodyplaintively. "'He looks just as if he'd come out of a bandbox,' some ofmy lady friends used to say. How do I look now?"
"Like a dirty-handed son of toil," said Tom humorously.
"So do you," retorted Peabody, who felt that this was uncomplimentary.
"I admit it," said Tom; "and that's just what I expect to be. You don'texpect to dig gold with kid gloves on, do you, Mr. Peabody?"
"I wish I had brought some with me," said the Bostonian seriously. "Itwould have saved my hands looking so dingy."
"How came you to start for California, my friend?" inquired Ferguson.
"The fact is," said Peabody, "I am not rich. There are members of ourfamily who are wealthy; but I am not one of the lucky number."
"You were making a living at home, were you not?"
"Yes; but my income was only enough for myself."
"I suppose you were in love, then," said Tom.
"I don't mind saying that I was; confidentially, of course," said Mr.Peabody complacently.
"Was your love returned?"
"I may say it was. The young lady was the daughter of a merchant prince.I saw that she loved me, but her father would not consent to our union,on account of my limited means. I read in the _Transcript_ of the golddiscoveries in California. I determined to go out there, and try myfortune. If I am successful I will go home, and, with a bag of gold ineach hand, demand the hand of Matilda from her haughty sire. When heasks me for my credentials, I will point to the gold, and say, 'Beholdthem here!'"
"If both your hands are full I don't see how you can point to the bagsof gold," said Tom, who liked to tease the young Bostonian.
"There are a great many things you don't understand," said Mr. Peabody,irritably.
"He is right, Tom," said Ferguson, with a quiet smile.
"If you are both against me, I will give it up," said Tom. "All I cansay is, I hope you'll get the two bags of gold, Mr. Peabody, and thatyou'll get the young lady, too."
Here Fletcher came up, and called upon Tom to assist in preparations forsupper. Our hero readily complied with the request. Indeed, he alwaysshowed himself so obliging that he won the favorable regards of all.
Mr. Peabody continued the conversation with Mr. Ferguson.
"Do you think there's as much gold in California as people say?" heasked.
"No," answered the Scotchman.
"You don't?" ejaculated the Bostonian, in dismay.
"No; people always magnify when they talk of a new country. Now, myfriend, how much do you expect to get in the first year?"
"Well, about fifty thousand dollars," answered Peabody.
"And how much were you earning in Boston--a thousand dollars?"
"About that," answered Peabody vaguely. In fact, he had been working ona salary of twelve dollars a week, in a retail dry-goods store onWashington Street.
"Then you expect to make fifty times as much as at home?"
"Don't you think I will?"
"I have never had such large expectations. If I make three or fourthousand dollars in twelve months it will satisfy me."
"But a man would never get rich, at that rate," said Lawrence Peabodyuneasily.
"I don't know about that. It depends as much on what a man does with hismoney, as on the amount he makes," said the prudent Scot.
"I am afraid I did wrong in leaving Boston," said Peabody gloomily. "IfI am to travel many weeks through the mud, and get no more than that, Ishall feel that I am poorly paid."
"You don't feel like my young friend Tom. He is full of hope, and enjoyseverything."
"He hasn't been brought up as I have," said Peabody. "A country boy incowhide boots is tough, and don't mind roughing it."
Ferguson did not have a chance to answer, for there was a summons tosupper--a welcome call, that made even Mr. Lawrence Peabody lookcheerful for the time being.