She threw open the door of the parlor, and Ben, entering, seated himself in an arm-chair, holding his hat in his hand.
"I wonder if she'd asked me in here if I'd come in my rags?" he asked himself, with a smile.
The servant went upstairs, where she found Charles in his own room, writing a French exercise.
"Master Charles," she said, "one of your school-mates is in the parlor. He wants to see you."
"All right. I'll go right down."
The mistake was quite a natural one, as boys who attended the same private school frequently called for Charles.
Charles went downstairs, and entered the parlor. Ben rose as he entered.
"How are you, Charlie?" said Ben, rising, and offering his hand.
Charles looked in his face with a puzzled expression. It was not one of his school-mates, as he had supposed; but it must be some one that knew him intimately, or he would not have addressed him so familiarly.
"I ought to know you," he said, apologetically; "but I can't think who it is."