“I am afraid you would be too old.”
“Where does she live?”
“Where I do—at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.”
“You are joking, Ben.”
“Not at all. I wish you would tell Mrs. Robinson that I shall not sleep at home to-night, but will keep my room for the present, as I don’t know how long the arrangement will last.”
“Then you are really staying at the Fifth Avenue?”
“I expect to dine there. My new patroness is in Wall Street, but will be back by two o’clock.”
“Do you receive a salary?”
“I don’t know what arrangements I shall make. I received this this morning,” and Ben displayed the ten-dollar bill.
“Is it genuine?” asked the novelist.