“What do you mean?”
“I haven’t time to explain just now. I will give you a few books to read, and your eyes may be opened to certain truths that will change your whole theory of life. It is seldom that I try to make a convert to my views, but I have observed surface indications on your part that you have brains. If you have, the time has come for you to learn that you live and move and have your being at a most critical time in the world’s history. We are on the verge of great events, my boy, of great upheavals and vast changes. You will probably live to see them. I may or I may not. But whether I do or don’t will make little difference to me, or to the world. But enough of this. I must get down to the office. And you, lucky man, have the evening to yourself. What will you do with it?”
“Go to hear the De Reszkes and Melba in ‘Faust,’ I think.”
“Great scheme! It will do you good. It is much pleasanter watching Mephistopheles on the stage than fighting him in real life. I envy you, my boy. And to-morrow night you dine with a millionnaire. Be careful, Richard; remember Nathan Hale.”
“I don’t see the point,” remarked the youth thoughtfully.
“I didn’t think you would,” answered Fenton; “but don’t forget to come to me to-morrow for those books. I’ll tell you at the same time what I know about the Percy-Bartletts, if you wish. Good-night.”
Fenton boarded a cable-car going down town, and Richard Stoughton strolled moodily up Broadway.
“Fenton’s a curious mixture,” he muttered to himself. “I wonder what he was driving at.”