After supper, the lads, feeling more cheerful than before, sauntered up to the clerk's desk, and inspected the directory of the city. They found their uncle's name and address, and it gave them a gleam of pleasure to see his well-remembered business card printed on the page opposite. Under the street address was printed Mr. Bryant's place of residence, thus: "h. at Hyde Park." "Where's that?" asked Sandy, confidently, of the clerk. "Oh! that's out of the city a few miles. You can ride out there in the stage. Only costs you a quarter." Only a quarter! And the last quarter had gone to the colored boy with the whisk-broom. "Here's a go!" said Sandy, for once a little cast down. "We might walk it," Oscar whispered, as they moved away from the desk. But to this Charlie, asserting the authority of an elder brother, steadfastly objected. He knew his Uncle Oscar better than the younger boys did. He remembered that he was a very precise and dignified elderly gentleman. He would be scandalized greatly if his three wandering nephews should come tramping out to his handsome villa on a Sunday, like three vagabonds, to borrow money enough to get home to Dixon with. No; that was not to be thought of. Charlie said he would pawn his watch on Monday morning; he would walk the streets to keep out of the way of the much-dreaded hotel clerk; but, as for trudging out to his Uncle Oscar's on Sunday, he would not do it, nor should either of the others stir a step. So they went to bed, and slept as comfortably in their luxurious apartment as if they had never known anything less handsome, and had money in plenty to pay all demands at sight. It was a cloudy and chilly November Sunday to which the boys awoke next day. The air was piercingly raw, and the city looked dust-colored and cheerless under the cold, gray sky. Breaking their fast (Charlie keeping one eye on the hotel office), they sallied forth to see the city. They saw it all over, from one end to the other. They walked and walked, and then went back to the hotel; and after dinner, walked and walked again. They hunted up their uncle's store in one of the deserted business streets of the city; and they gazed at its exterior with a curious feeling of relief. There was the sign on the prosperous-looking outside of the building,--"Oscar G. Bryant & Co., Agricultural Implements." There, at least, was a gleam of comfort. The store was a real thing. Their uncle, little though they knew about him, was a real man.