“Where is that?”
“I’s been tinking about it for free weeks, an’ made all de ’quiries possible, an’ found out it’s jest de place for us, an’ dat’s Californy. Dere’s a man stayin’ at this house now—his name is Swill—no, Mills, an’ he’s jest got back from Californy, an’, golly! you orter hear him tell ’bout de country! It’s awful splendid,” added Jim, in his enthusiasm.
“It will be quite an undertaking to go to California, and we’ll take a day or two to think about it,” said Inwood, feeling at the same time that the Golden Gate was the door through which he should pass to comfort and wealth. In the evening, he walked out alone to think over the matter.
It being nearly ten years since that flood-tide of navigation had set in toward California from every part of the world, the charm, in a great measure, was now broken, and those who went there, did so, very frequently, for other purposes than to dig gold. Yet, Inwood concluded that if he went, it should be for the purpose of extracting the yellow metal from the rocks and earth. He was twenty-five years of age, his heart was set upon being a Christian minister, and he felt that if he ever intended to become one, even with the help which his church extended to indigent men, he had no time to plod up the hill of fortune.
But right here arose the troublesome question, how was California to be reached? He had but little over a hundred dollars, barely sufficient to pay his own passage, without taking into account the necessity of carrying at least Jim with him, and the outfit which was indispensable.
But again, kind Providence smiled upon his project. After announcing his willingness to go to California, if he possessed the means, Jim Tubbs suddenly disappeared, and was gone for a couple of days. When he came back again, he was very important, and seemed as well becomes a man who carries a mighty secret in his breast.
“Doesn’t make no difference where I’ve been,” he said rather savagely, in response to the inquiries of the slip-shod, bulky landlady. “I’s been on bis’ness—dat’s whar I’ve been—on very ’portant bis’ness. Yas, ma’am.”
The tubby landlady lowered her head, as does a cow when about to charge, that her spectacles might slip down far enough on her pug nose to allow her to look over them. Then she stared at Jim a moment in mute amazement.
“A black man off on bis’ness—never heard of such a thing,” and she, lifting her skirts rather gingerly, retreated from the apartment, leaving Jim alone with the two Inwoods at the tea-table. The two latter knew that the African had some news to tell and they forebore to question him, choosing to wait until he was ready to unbosom, which was just what he didn’t want them to do. He waited and waited for them to inquire of him, until he could wait no longer.
“Gorry’ation! why don’t you ax me?” he finally demanded in high dudgeon.