He put on his hat and left the house whistling.
Arrived in New York, James Barclay lost no time in returning to his father’s old lodgings. Mrs. O’Connor, one of the tenants, chanced to be just coming out of the house with a bundle of clean clothes, which she was about to carry to a customer.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” said Barclay, politely, for he could be polite when he saw fit, “I believe you knew an old man who moved away from here recently?”
“Old Jerry? Yes, I knew him well. He lived here ever since I did, and what took him away so sudden I can’t tell.”
“I am sorry not to find him, for I know of something to his advantage.”
“He didn’t leave word where he was going, more’s the pity. I wish he had, for I’d like to have called to see him and the bye some time.”
“There was a boy, then, who lived with him? I believe I have heard him mentioned before.”
“Yes, sir, and a nice bye he was, and a smart one. He was rale kind to the old man, Paul was, and I don’t think old Jerry could have got along without him.”
“He was employed in a store, wasn’t he?” asked Barclay, assuming less knowledge than he possessed.
“No, indade. Paul is a telegraph bye, and has been for ’most two years. He’s a favorite with the company, I’m thinkin’, as he ought to be, for he always attinds to his duties, and is up early and late.”