"Invite the person up," Trueman tells the servant.
The apartments he occupies are in a quiet boarding house on Lincoln Avenue. He has been in the house six weeks, during which time no one has ever called to see him.
A minute passes in which he ransacks his mind in an attempt to think who can have any business with him. It is half-past eight at night.
A loud rap at the door announces the visitor.
"Come in," calls Trueman.
"Good evening, Mr. Trueman." It is William Nevins who speaks.
"O, it is you, Mr. Nevins," exclaims Trueman.
"I owe you an apology," he continues, "for being surprised at seeing you; but the fact is I am a stranger in Chicago and have had no visitors. When your card came I could not imagine who could wish to see me."
"I am well aware that you are a stranger in this city," Nevins replies. "And as I am little better off I thought that I would drop in to have a chat with you."
"We were delegates at the Anti-Trust Conference and will have much to discuss," says Trueman, in his most affable manner. "I certainly am glad you thought of me. Take a seat, and make yourself as comfortable as the quarters will permit."