ostensibly looking in at the window of the drug store. As Rodney turned away he recognized him at once as his enterprising fellow traveler

taken you. I like your appearance better than that of the boy I have selected." "Thank you, sir." "This boy may not prove satisfactory. Call in six days, just before his week expires, and if there is likely to be a vacancy I will let you know." "Thank you, sir. You are very kind." "I always sympathize with boys. I have two boys of my own." This conversation quite encouraged Rodney. It seemed to promise success in the future. If he had probably impressed one man, he might be equally fortunate with another. It was about half past twelve when he passed through Nassau Street. All at once his arm was grasped, and a cheery voice said, "Where are you going, Rodney?" "Mr. Woods!" he exclaimed, with pleased recognition. "Yes, it's your old friend Woods." "You are not the only railroad friend I have met this morning." "Who was the other?" "The gentleman who obligingly took care of my jewel box for a short time." "You don't mean to say you have met him? Where did you come across him?" "In front of the Astor House, almost two hours since." "Did you speak to him?" "He spoke to me. You will be glad to hear that he has recovered his own casket of jewels." Adin Woods smiled. "He must think you are easily imposed upon," he said, "to believe any such story. Anything more?" "He said his friends would be very much surprised to hear that he had been suspected of theft." "So he wanted to clear himself with you?" "Yes; he asked where I was staying." "I hope you didn't tell him." "I only said I was at a boarding house on West Fourteenth Street, but didn't mention the number." "He thinks you have the casket with you, and that he may get possession of it. It is well that you stored it at Tiffany's." "I think so. Now I have no anxiety about it. Do you think he will find out where we live?" "Probably, as you gave him a clew. But, Rodney, it is about lunch time, and I confess I have an appetite. Come and lunch with me." "But I am afraid, Mr. Woods, I shall not be able to return the compliment." "There is no occasion for it. I feel in good humor this morning. I have sold one lot, and have hopes of disposing of another. The one lot pays me a commission of twenty dollars." "I wish I could make twenty dollars in a week." "Sometimes I only sell one lot in a week. It isn't like a regular business. It is precarious. Still, take the year through and I make a pretty good income. Come in here. We can get a good lunch here," and he led the way into a modest restaurant, not far from the site of the old post office, which will be remembered by those whose residence in New York dates