"Certainly," answered Mr. Kenyon. "Bear in mind, Oliver, that I exercise no compulsion over you. I think you are old enough now to be judge of your own affairs."
"Thank you, sir."
The conversation which we have reported took some time. After it was over Mr. Kenyon devoted his attention to the morning papers, and Oliver was sufficiently amused looking out of the window and examining his fellow-passengers.
Presently they reached the city. Leaving the cars, they got into a horse-car, for distances are great in New York.
Oliver looked out of the car windows with a lively sense of satisfaction. How much gayer and more agreeable it would be, he thought, to be in business in a great city like New Yorkthan to live in a quiet little country village where nothing was going on. This was a natural feeling, but there was another side to the question which Oliver did not consider. How many families in the great, gay city are compelled to live in miserable tenements, amid noise and vicious surroundings, who, on the same income, could live comfortably and independently in the country, breathing God's pure air, and with nothing to repel or disgust them?
"New York is rather a lively place, Oliver," said Mr. Kenyon, who read his young companion's thoughts. "I think you will like to live here."
"I am sure I shall," said Oliver eagerly. "I should think you would prefer it yourself, Mr. Kenyon."
"Perhaps I may remove here some day, Oliver. I own that I have thought of it. Roland would like it better, I am sure."
"Yes, sir, I think he would."
"Where is the store you spoke of, Mr. Kenyon?" he queried, after a pause. "Are we going there now?"