“I can’t tell you,” said the officer. “One thing is clear—you can’t go to California on that ticket.”
Poor Joe! For the moment hope was dead within his breast. He had but one dollar left and that was only half the amount necessary to carry him back to the village where we found him at the commencement of our story. Even if he were able to go back, he felt he would be ashamed to report the loss of his money. The fact that he had allowed himself to be swindled mortified him not a little. He would never hear the last of it if he returned to Oakville.
“No; I wouldn’t go back if I could,” he decided.
“Wouldn’t I like to get hold of the man that sold me the ticket!”
He had hardly given mental expression to this wish when it was gratified. The very man passed him and was about to cross the gangplank into the steamer. Joe’s eyes flashed, and he sprang forward and seized the man by the arm.
The swindler’s countenance changed when he recognized Joe, but he quickly decided upon his course.
“What do you want, Johnny?” he asked composedly.
“What do I want? I want my fifty dollars back.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“You sold me a bogus ticket for fifty dollars,” said Joe stoutly. “Here it is. Take it back and give me my money.”