"We ought to become close friends, for we are, I believe, the only pa.s.sengers."
"Then you are a pa.s.senger, too?" said Dodger, deciding, after a brief scrutiny, that he should like his new acquaintance.
"Yes. My name is Randolph Leslie. I have been, for the last five years, a reporter on leading New York daily papers, and worked so closely that my health has become somewhat affected. My doctor recommended a sea voyage, and I have arranged for a pretty long one."
"What papers have you worked for?"
"Oh, all the leading ones--_Tribune, World, Herald,_ and _Sun_-- sometimes one, and sometimes another. Your reason for taking this trip can hardly be the same as mine. You don"t look as if your health required you to travel."
"No," answered Dodger, smiling; "but I understand that the gentleman who engaged my pa.s.sage said I was going to sea for my health."
"If I were as robust as you, I shouldn"t give much thought to my health. Do you intend to remain in California?"
"I don"t know what I do intend," replied Dodger. "I didn"t know I was going to California at all until I woke up in my stateroom."
The young man looked surprised.
"Didn"t you know the destination of the vessel when you came on board?" he asked.
"I was brought aboard in my sleep."
"This is curious. It looks to me as if you had a story to tell.
"Of course, I don"t want to be curious, but if there is anyway in which I can help you, by advice, or in any other way, I am quite ready to do so."
Dodger paused, but only briefly. This young man looked friendly, and might help him to penetrate the mystery which at present baffled him.
At any rate, his experience qualified him to give friendly advice, and of this Dodger felt that he stood in need.
"I ought to tell you, to begin with," he said, "that I am a poor boy, and made my living as best I could, by carrying baggage, selling papers, etc."
"I don"t think any the worse of you for that. Did you live at the lodging houses?"
"No; until lately I lived with a man who keeps a saloon on the Bowery, and tended bar for him."
"What was his name? As a reporter I know the Bowery pretty well."
"Tim Bolton."
"Tim Bolton? I know his place well. I think I must have seen you there. Your face looked familiar to me as soon as I set eyes on you."
"Very likely. A good many people came into Tim"s. I couldn"t pretend to remember them all."
"Was Tim a relative of yours?"
"I don"t believe he was. I always thought that he got hold of me when I was a kid. I don"t remember the time when I wasn"t with him."
"I suppose you have always lived in New York?"
"No; I lived for several years in Australia. Tim was in the same business there. I came on with him a year or more since."
"Do you think you ever lived in New York before?"
"Yes; Tim has told me that I was born in New York."
"I understand that you have left Tim now?"
"Yes."
"Why, may I ask?"
"Because I didn"t like the business he was in. But I liked it better than the one he wanted me to go into."
"What was that?"
"Burglary."
The young reporter started in surprise.
"Well," he said, "this is a new tack for Tim. However, I never looked upon him as a man who would shrink from any violation of the laws, except murder. I don"t think he would do that."
"No; Tim isn"t quite so bad. He isn"t the worst man alive, though he is a rather hard customer. It was his wanting me to enter a house on Madison Avenue and open a desk that led to me going on this trip."
"Tell me about it, if you don"t mind."
Thus invited, Dodger told his story to Randolph Leslie, keeping nothing back.
He finished by showing him the letter he had found in the valise.
Chapter XXIII.
Through The Golden Gate.
"Well, this is certainly a remarkable letter," said the reporter, as he handed it back to Dodger. "I am at a loss to understand the interest which this man appears to feel in you."
"I look upon him as my enemy," said Dodger. "But an enemy doesn"t spend so much money upon another as he has."
"Unless he has object in it," amended Leslie, shrewdly. "Do you know of any connection this man has with you?"
"No; I never heard of him until I entered his house," and Dodger flushed as he thought that his entrance into the mansion on Madison Avenue had been as a burglar.
"It seems to me that he knows more about you than you do about him. It also seems to me that he is anxious to get you out of New York, the farther the better."
"But what harm could I do him in New York?" asked Dodger, puzzled.
"That is the question which I cannot answer. You say he was instrumental in getting his Cousin Florence out of the house?"