"This won't do," he said to himself. "At this rate I shall soon be
penniless. I must get something to do."

In the evening he strolled down Montgomery Street to Telegraph Hill.
It was not a very choice locality, the only buildings being shabby
little dens, frequented by a class of social outlaws who kept
concealed during the day but came out at night--a class to which the
outrages frequent at this time were rightly attributed.

Joe was stumbling along the uneven path, when all at once he found
himself confronted by a tall fellow wearing a slouched hat. The man
paused in front of him, but did not say a word. Finding that he was
not disposed to move aside, Joe stepped aside himself. He did not as
yet suspect the fellow's purpose. He understood it, however, when a
heavy hand was laid on his shoulder.

"Quick, boy, your money!" said the ruffian.

Having but two dollars and a half, Joe naturally felt reluctant to
part with it, and this gave him the courage to object.

"I've got none to spare," he said and tried to tear himself away.

His resistance led the fellow to suspect that he had a considerable
sum with him. Joe felt himself seized and carried into a den close
by, which was frequented by thieves and desperate characters.

There was a counter, on which was set a dim oil-lamp. There were a
few bottles in sight, and a villainous-looking fellow appeared to