He said he remembered her very well, had read in the newspapers that she had left Newport for Chicago, and thought it was a wise idea of mine to join her. "I'm glad you think that," said I, "for I want to start to-day; and I hope you'll tell me how to go, how much money it will be, how long it takes to get there, and all about it." He didn't answer for a minute, but sat looking very grave, staring at his brown hand on the white tablecloth, as if he'd never seen it before. Then he said: "Curiously enough, I am going West this afternoon too. Would you object to my being in the same train? I wouldn't suggest such a thing, only you see as you're a stranger in the country, I might be able to help you a little." "How splendid!" I exclaimed. "It seems almost too good to be true. You can't fancy what a relief it is to my mind." He looked pleased at that, and said I was very kind, though I should have thought it was the other way round. "I'll get your ticket then," he went on. "If you'll give me twenty-five dollars--five pounds, you know--I'll hand you back the change; but I'm afraid it won't be much." "Change?" I echoed. "Why, I supposed it would be ever so much more than five pounds to get to Chicago, which is almost in Central America, isn't it?" "The people who live there think it's central," said Mr. Brett. "But they make the railroad men keep prices down, so that dissatisfied New Yorkers can afford to go and live there. It isn't a bad journey, you'll find. I think it will interest you. You sleep and eat in the train, you know." "What fun!" I exclaimed. "I've never slept in a train, even on the Continent." "If you had, it would be different from this one," said he. "Can you be ready in twenty-five minutes? The train which we call the Twentieth Century, starts at 2.45." "I'm ready now," said I. "The sooner we're on the way the better. But oh, about Vivace. Will they allow him to sleep and eat too?" "I expect I can arrange that," Mr. Brett answered, in such a confident way that I felt sure he could do it, or anything else he set out to do. It really was lucky for me that he happened to be travelling West that same day, and such an extraordinary coincidence, too. "Are you going on journalistic business?" I asked. "No, it's business I'm undertaking for a friend," he explained. "But I hope to get something good for myself out of it in the end." "Oh, I do hope you will," I replied. "I'm sure you deserve to." "I'm sure I don't," said he, laughing. "But I shall try hard for it, all the same. You know, you told me to be ambitious." "I know I did," I answered. A moment later he said that he must hurry off and attend to the tickets, and I had only time to glance through some papers the waiter brought me, with columns full of Mohunsleigh's marriage, when he was back again with a cab.