But he was neither inclined to
enter the employ of Deacon Pitkin, nor to become the valet and
servant of Sam Sturgis. He was not quite sure whether he would not
prefer to become a bootblack, like his new acquaintance.
"What are you goin' to do?" asked Tom.
"I wish I knew," said Ben earnestly. "What can I do?"
"You might go into my business," suggested Tom.
Ben shook his head.
"I don't think I should like that."
"No more would I if I'd got fifty dollars in my pocket. If I was you
I'd go into business."
"What kind of business?"
"Well," said Tom reflectively, "you might buy out an apple or a
peanut-stand, and have lots of money left."
"Is there much money to be made that way?" inquired Ben.
"Well, I never knowed anybody get rich in that line. I guess you'd
make a livin'."
"That wouldn't satisfy me, Tom. What I want most of all is to go to
California."
The bootblack whistled.
"That's off ever so far, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's a long way."
"How do you go?"
"There are three ways," answered Ben, who had made himself familiar
with the subject. "The first is to go by land-across the plains.
Then there is a line of steamers by way of Panama.
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