“I beg your pardon, sir,” said he; “will you be kind enough to tell me which way to go to find Robinson’s hardware store?”
“I should be glad to tell you if I knew, but I am a stranger here,” was the reply.
“Are you, indeed?” said Guy. “So am I; and the worst of it is, I fear I am lost.”
“I am in the same situation,” said the stranger. “I am trying to find my hotel, and if I don’t succeed very soon I shall call a carriage.”
“Why, so you can. I never thought of that.”
“Where are you from?” asked the stranger.
“Brattleboro, Vermont,” replied Guy, “and I never before was so far away from home. I have one friend here, a brother-in-law, if I could only find him, who owns an extensive hardware store. Where do you live, sir?”
“A few miles from Ann Arbor, Michigan, and this is my first visit to St. Louis. I am stopping at the Olive Street Hotel.”
“So am I; but, to tell the truth, I haven’t funds enough to pay for such expensive lodgings, and that’s another reason why I am so anxious to find Robinson. My father wouldn’t give me much money for fear I should fall into the hands of—sharpers, I believe he called them.”
“Yes, that’s what they are,” said the stranger with an air of superior wisdom. “Your father is a sensible man. It isn’t just the thing to trust an innocent young fellow like you alone in a great city with plenty of money in his pocket. He is almost sure to lose it.”