"In case Wenrich cannot be found in the course of two or three days you can drop the matter and come on to here without further delay. I send you some money in case the fire has left you short, and in case you have a chance to buy the map. "Yours truly, "Richard Marden." Enclosed in the letter were money orders amounting to one hundred and fifty dollars. "I'm glad I didn't get a job now," thought Robert. "If I had I would only had to have thrown it up. I'll go down to the post-office at once, get those money orders cashed, and then go on a hunt for Herman Wenrich." CHAPTER XVIII. THE POST-OFFICE MONEY ORDER. Robert had been to the post-office a number of times for Mr. Gray, so he made his way there after breakfast without difficulty. He found the money-order department somewhat crowded, and had to take his place at the end of a line numbering a dozen persons or more. While he was moving toward the window his attention was attracted to a loudly-dressed individual, who came in and glanced around as if looking for somebody he knew. The man singled out Robert and came up to him. "Are you acquainted here, young man?" he asked, in a low tone, so that those standing around might not hear. "What do you mean?" asked the youth. He was positive he had never seen the loudly-dressed individual before. "I mean do they know you at yonder window?" "One of the clerks knows me." "Then I wish you would do me a favor. My name is Charles Shotmore. I come from Lexington. I received a money order yesterday from my aunt, with whom I reside, and I want to get the order cashed." "Well?" "Won't you identify me? Of course, it's a mere matter of form, but it places one in a regular hole if one is not known," went on the man glibly. "You know they are very particular just at present, although they didn't used to be." "But I don't know you," said Robert, with considerable surprise. "I have just told you my name--Charles Shotmore, of Lexington. My aunt's name is Caroline Shotmore. And your name is----?" The man paused, expecting Robert to fill in the blank. But the youth had seen enough of city life to make him shy of strangers, and he did not mention his name. "Never mind about my name," he said coldly. "Won't you identify me?" "How can I when I do not know you." "I have just told you my name. Isn't that sufficient?" "Why don't you tell them the same thing at the window?" "Because they are too particular." "I don't think they are." "Then you won't do me the favor?" And the loudly-dressed individual frowned darkly. "I cannot, conscientiously." "Humph! it seems to me you are mighty particular." "And you are very forward," retorted Robert, and turned his back on the fellow. The man started to say more, but suddenly turned and walked to the corner of the room. Robert had no difficulty in getting his money orders cashed. "For yourself?" said the clerk, with a smile. "Yes." "You're in luck."