"You are a very good boy, and I will accept your offer." He rose and left the car, leaning heavily on Fred's arm. "How long have you felt unwell?" asked the train boy sympathetically. "Ever since we left Elmira. My head troubles me." "It is the motion of the cars, no doubt. Here we are!" They were just in time to reach the boat. They entered the ladies' cabin, as Fred thought the tobacco smoke which always pervaded the cabin devoted to men would increase the old gentleman's head trouble. "Where do you wish to go when we have reached the New York side?" asked Fred, when they were nearly across the river. "I have a nephew living on Madison Avenue. Do you know that street?" "Oh, yes, sir, very well. I will go up with you if you will let me know your nephew's name." The name was mentioned, and to Fred's surprise was that of a wealthy and influential Wall Street broker. It was clear that the old gentleman, though plainly dressed, would not need to economize. "I think, sir," said Fred, noticing that the old man seemed to be getting more and more feeble, "that it will be well for you to take a cab, in order to avoid any walking. You seem very much fatigued." "You are right. Will you call one? I don't feel able." "With pleasure, sir." Fred passed through the gate and beckoned a hackman, who drove up with alacrity. "Where to, sir?" he asked. Fred gave the number on Madison Avenue. "Mr. John Wainwrignt lives there," said the hackman. "I sometimes drive him up from Wall Street." "That is the place. This is his uncle." The hackman touched his hat respectfully to the old gentleman, whom he had at first mentally styled a rusty old codger. His relationship to the wealthy broker gave him dignity in the eyes of the driver. "Won't you get in too?" asked the old gentleman who had come to rely upon Fred as his guardian. "Certainly, sir." "I shall feel safer. I am a perfect stranger to the city." He leaned back in the seat and partially closed his eyes. The hack rattled through the streets and in due time reached its destination. The hackman opened the door of the cab and Fred assisted the old gentleman to alight. "Take my pocketbook and pay him," said the old man. The hackman did not venture to ask more than his rightful fare, as it would have come to the knowledge of the broker, whom he did not care to offend. The driver paid, Fred ascended the steps and rang the bell. A man servant opened the door. "Is Mr. Wainwright at home?" asked Fred. The servant, seeing an old man in rather a rusty dress, was inclined to think that he was an applicant for charity, and answered rather superciliously: "Yes, he's at 'ome, but I ain't sure as he'll see you." "Tell him," said Fred sharply, "that his uncle has arrived." "His uncle!" repeated the astounded flunkey. "O yes, sir, certainly, sir. I think he _is_ at 'ome. Won't you step in, sir?"