“Are you not afraid?” asked Guy.
“Me? No. I’ve traveled.”
“Then you will let me stay with you, won’t you? I shall feel safe in your company.”
“Certainly, I will.”
“Well, suppose we go and see if we can find our hotel. I’d rather walk than call a carriage. Your name is——”
“Whitney,” replied the stranger. “And yours?”
“Benjamin—Rufus Benjamin, at your service,” said Guy.
The embryo confidence man had the satisfaction of seeing that he was making rapid headway, and when Whitney moved away with him he took his arm, and the two walked along conversing as familiarly as though they had been acquainted for years.
Guy seemed so innocent and confiding and made himself appear so ignorant of city life, that Whitney wondered how his father came to trust him so far away from home, and repeatedly assured him that it was a fortunate thing for him that they met just as they did, for had Guy been left to find his way back to his hotel alone, he would have been almost certain to get himself into trouble of some kind.
Finally, as they were passing a beer-garden their attention was attracted by the strains of music, and Whitney proposed that, as it was yet early in the evening, they should step in and see what was going on. Guy agreed, and when they had seated themselves at a table in a remote corner of the garden, he called for cider. He never drank anything stronger, he said, for his father didn’t allow it. But the German had no cider, and Guy, after a great deal of persuasion, was at last prevailed upon to indulge in a glass of soda-water, while Whitney solaced himself with a mug of beer. For nearly half an hour they sat at the table conversing upon different topics, smoking their cigars and sipping at their glasses, and then the door opened and Mr. Jones came in.