"That's a good beginning," thought Robert. "I wish mother knew how well I have succeeded so far. I'll just write and let her know that I have arrived safe. To-morrow perhaps I shall have better news to tell."
He went back to his hotel, and feeling hungry, made a substantial meal. He found the restaurants moderate in price, and within his means.
Six o'clock found him ringing the bell of a handsome brownstone house on Fifth avenue. Though not disposed to be shy, he felt a little embarrassed as the door opened and a servant in livery stood before him.
"Is Mr. Morgan at home?" inquired Robert.
"Yes, sir," said the servant, glancing speculatively at the neat but coarse garments of our hero.
"He invited me to dine with him," said Robert.
"Won't you walk in, sir?" said the servant, with another glance of mild surprise at the dress of the dinner guest. "If you'll walk in here," opening the door of a sumptuously furnished parlor, "I will announce you. What name shall I say?"
"Robert Rushton."
Robert entered the parlor, and sat down on a sofa. He looked around him with a little, pardonable curiosity, for he had never before been in an elegant city mansion.
"I wonder whether I shall ever be rich enough to live like this!" he thought.