We agreed with Crusoe that this was indeed rather a hard case, but promised him that he would find us altogether different sort of persons. We were first-class passengers—none of your rowdy third-class; he understood all that; they were all first-class passengers ashore; he wouldn't believe one of 'em on oath. Again we endeavored to compromise the matter, so far as regarded the ham at least, of which he was entirely incredulous, by telling him that he might come on board with us, and then when we'd be sure not to run away without paying him.
"But what if you should carry me away?" said he, evidently startled by this proposition.
"Nothing—only we'd take you to California. That would be a lucky chance for you."
"No, it wouldn't. I don't want to go there. I'm very well here."
"But there's plenty of gold in California," said we; "no doubt about it at all. You may live here all your life, and be no better off."
"I'm well enough off," retorted Crusoe; "I only want people to let me alone. Ever since this California business they've been troublin' me."
"You surely can't be happy here without a soul near you! Why, it's enough to drive a man mad. It must be dreadfully dull. You can't be happy!"
"Yes I am!" said Crusoe, peevishly; "I'm always happy when I ain't troubled. When I'm troubled I'm mis'rable. Nothin' makes me so mis'rable as bein' troubled."
"It makes a good many people miserable," was our reply. "We must trouble you for a night's lodging, at all events, for we have no place else to stay."
"I don't want you to stay nowhere else!" cried Crusoe; "that wasn't what I meant: you mustn't get drunk—that's what I meant."