“I know very little about New York. In fact, nothing at all,” Chester was obliged to confess.
“You will soon find your way about. I have no doubt you will find me,” and the professor mentioned the number. “Shall we say next Wednesday evening, at eight o’clock sharp? That’s if you have no engagement for that evening,” he added, with a smile.
Chester laughed at the idea of his having any evening engagements in a city which he had not seen for eight years.
“If you are engaged to dine with William Vanderbilt or Jay Gould on that evening,” continued the professor, with a merry look, “I will say Thursday.”
“If I find I am engaged in either place, I think I can get off,” said Chester.
“Then Wednesday evening let it be!”
As the train neared New York Chester began to be solicitous about finding Mr. Conrad in waiting for him. He knew nothing about the city, and would feel quite helpless should the artist not be present to meet him. He left the car and walked slowly along the platform, looking eagerly on all sides for the expected friendly face.
But nowhere could he see Herbert Conrad.
In some agitation he took from his pocket the card containing his friend’s address, and he could hardly help inwardly reproaching him for leaving an inexperienced boy in the lurch. He was already beginning to feel homesick and forlorn, when a bright-looking lad of twelve, with light-brown hair, came up and asked: “Is this Chester Rand?”
“Yes,” answered Chester, in surprise. “How do you know my name?”