“Is that you, Ben?” asked Wilkins in astonishment.
“I believe so, Mr. Wilkins,” smiled Ben.
“I can hardly believe my eyes. When I last saw you, you were selling papers on the Bowery. Now you look like a young prince. Is it possible you have found the business so profitable?”
“No, Mr. Wilkins, I have had a stroke of luck.”
“That is easy to see, but of what kind?”
“I have been adopted—for a time at least—by a rich lady.”
“How did that happen?”
“She saw me selling papers on the Bowery only yesterday morning, bought them all, took me to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and gave me the suit I am wearing besides a trunk full of underwear. I am boarding there with her.”
“That is wonderful. Would it do for me to call?”
“I think not. She wishes me to pass as her son, and doesn’t wish me to say much about our arrangements.”