"Wouldn't you like to know, Mortimer?" said Clarence, putting one finger waggishly on one side of his nose. "There isn't enough in it for two." "Oh, I don't want to interfere with you, of course. I thought I'd like to know whereabouts you are operating at present." "What do you say to the Windsor Hotel?" "Isn't that rash? Don't the detective know you?" "He can't be everywhere, the worthy man. Your friend Clarence knows what he is about. You won't interfere with me?" "Of course not." In spite of this assurance Mortimer made it in his way to drop into the Windsor Hotel later in the evening, but of course he did not see Clarence Clayton, who had put him on the wrong scent. A good dinner was not the end of Clayton's extravagance. He dropped into the Star Theatre, and enjoyed an attractive play, though it cost him a dollar. "Josiah Onthank will pay for it, I hope," he said, for he had ascertained from the hotel register the name of his Orange County friend. "It will cost something," he laughed, "to get his son into my office in Wall Street. Oh, Clarence, you're a sly one, you are!" Rupert was free from his duties at seven o'clock, but, remembering the commission he had received, he sought out the farmer and opened a conversation with him. "How do you like New York?" he asked. "It's a big city," answered the farmer. "I haven't been here before for twenty years." "Have you ever traveled on the Elevated cars?" "No, I'm a little mite afeard to travel so high in the air. Suppose the train should go through?" "I don't think there's any danger, sir. The road is strongly built." "I s'pose I'm timid, but I guess I won't ventur'. My son Ephraim wouldn't mind. I came to the city mostly on his account. He wanted me to see if there wasn't an opening here. He's got sick of the farm and wants to be a city man. Are you at work here?" "Yes, I'm a bell-boy in this hotel." "Does it pay you well?" "Yes, sir. I get five dollars a week and my board." "That's good for a boy like you. It's more than I pay my hired man, and he's twenty-eight. Is your work hard?" "I have to run upstairs and down a good deal. I got pretty tired at first." "I met quite a slick young man here this afternoon; he says he's a broker in Wall Street. He knows how to make money." "Does he, sir?" inquired Rupert, getting interested. "Yes; he says he made two hundred dollars last month, and he thinks that pretty small." "I should think it a good deal to make." "He doesn't have to work very hard, either. Ephraim would like being a broker. He always did like to dress up, but at home he can't do it till evenin' after he has milked the cows and finished the chores." "Did the gentleman mention his name to you?" "Yes, he said his name was Clarence Clayton. He thinks he may be able to take my son Ephraim into his office." "Did he tell you where his office was?" "Well, down in Wall Street somewhere. I s'pose there's a good deal of money made in Wall Street."