I won't trouble you with an account of my struggles to get along. I will only say that I am employed at present as a waiter at the Planters' Hotel, and though I can't save up much money, I am able to live comfortably. But you will wonder why I am writing to you. It is because I have seen your name mentioned in an advertisement in one of the St. Louis daily papers. I inclose the advertisement, and hope it is something to your advantage. I have taken the liberty to write to Mr. Bolton, telling him where you were six months since, and I now write to you so that you may communicate with him also. Yours respectfully, Tom Burns. The advertisement appended ran thus: INFORMATION WANTED.--Should this meet the eye of Ernest Ray, some time residing at Oak Forks, Iowa, he is requested to communicate with Benjamin Bolton, Attorney at Law, 182 Nassau Street, New York City. CHAPTER XXXII MR. BOLTON AS A HUSTLER When Benjamin Bolton left the house of Stephen Ray with a hundred dollars in his pocket, it was his clearly defined purpose to find the boy who had been so grossly wronged, and force the present holder of the Ray estate to make restitution. Only a few hours previous he had been nearly penniless. Even now, though he was provided with a sum of money that made him feel comparatively rich, he knew it would not last long. He provided himself with a respectable suit of clothing, and took the next train for New York. He had been in the metropolis two or three times in the course of his life, but knew no one there. While other paths might be open to him, for he was a man of education and worldly experience, he felt that he should like to get back into his own profession. He flattered himself that if properly started he could make himself valuable to an established attorney in the way of hunting up cases, and taking part in any legal work that might be intrusted to him. But how could he, an unknown man, recommend himself to any lawyer whose standing and business would make a connection with him desirable? Perhaps in any other business there would be less difficulty in making a start. But Mr. Bolton was resolute and determined, and fortune favored him. Within thirty miles of the city a stout gentleman of perhaps fifty entered the car and sat beside him. He looked like a well-to-do business man, free from care, but for the anxious expression on his face. He appeared like a man in trouble who stood in need of advice. The train had gone several miles before he decided to confide in the quiet man who sat beside him. He had already taken stock of Bolton in furtive glances. "There is something on his mind," thought Bolton. "He looks as if he wished to speak to some one." He addressed a casual remark to his companion, who instantly responded. "I don't like to trouble you," he said, "but I am somewhat perplexed."