“Come, young fellow, that won’t go down! It’s too thin!” said the young man, his countenance changing. “You don’t take me in so easily. Just hand over twenty-five dollars or I’ll hand you over to the police! There’s one coming!” Robert certainly did not care to have the threat executed, but he did not choose to yield. “If you do,” he said, “I’ll tell him that you did it because I would not give you twenty-five dollars.” This did not strike his new acquaintance as desirable, since it would be, in effect, charging him with blackmail. Moreover, he could bring nothing tangible against our young hero. He changed his tone therefore. “I don’t want to harm you,” he said, “but I deserve something for getting you out of a scrape. You might spare me five dollars.” “I got my suit two dollars cheaper through what you said,” said Robert. “I’ll give you that sum.” “Well, that will do,” said the other, finding the country boy more unmanageable than he expected. “I ought to have more, but I will call it square on that.” Robert drew a two-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the stranger. “That I can give,” he said, “because it was part of the price of my suit.” “All right. Good morning!” said the young man, and, thrusting the bill into his vest pocket, he walked carelessly away. Robert looked after him with a puzzled glance. “I shouldn’t think a young man dressed like that could be in want of money,” he reflected. “I am afraid he told a lie on my account, but I thought at the time he had really seen me, even if I couldn’t remember him.” Soon Robert came to a hat store, where he exchanged his battered old hat for one of fashionable shape, and a little later his cowhide shoes for a pair of neat calfskin. He surveyed himself now with natural satisfaction, for he was as well dressed as his friend Herbert Irving. He had by this time reached Washington Street and had just passed Milk Street when he met George Randolph, who looked as consequential and conceited as ever. “Good morning, George,” said Robert. George looked at him doubtfully. How could he suppose that the boy before him, dressed as well as himself, was the poor fisher boy of Cook’s Harbor? “I don’t seem to remember you,” said George civilly. Robert smiled. “You met me at Cook’s Harbor,” he explained. “I am Robert Coverdale.” “What! not the young fisherman?” ejaculated George incredulously. “The same.” “You haven’t come into a fortune, have you? What brings you here?” demanded the city boy in great amazement. “I am in the city on business. No, I haven’t come into a fortune, but I am better off than I was. Can you recommend me a good hotel?” “I don’t know about the cheap hotels.” “I don’t care for a cheap hotel. I want a good one.” More and more surprised, George said: “You might go to Young’s.” “I will go there. Thank you for telling me.” “I don’t understand how a boy like you can afford to go to such a hotel as that,” said George, looking very much puzzled.