"He's found some flat who has taken a fancy to him, and is paying his expenses. Very likely he'll get tired of him, though."
"Who is it?" asked Mr. Kenyon, with some curiosity.
"It's a rough sort of a man. Frank Dudley met him one day at Staten Island. An old miner from California, I believe, named Bundy."
"What!" exclaimed his father hastily and in visible agitation. "What is the man's name?"
"Bundy."
"What is his first name?"
"Nicholas, I believe."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Mr. Kenyon, moved in some unaccountable manner. "How strange the boy should have fallen in with him!"
"Why, do you know him, father?" asked Roland, whose turn it was now to be surprised.
"I have heard of him," answered Mr. Kenyon,in an embarrassed voice; "not lately—years ago."