“It is. My name is Stuyvesant—one of the old Dutch families.”
Carl was not so much impressed, perhaps, as he should have been by this announcement, for he knew very little of fashionable life in New York.
“You don’t look like a Dutchman,” he said, smiling.
“I suppose you expected a figure like a beer keg,” rejoined Stuyvesant, laughing. “Some of my forefathers may have answered that description, but I am not built that way. Are you traveling far?”
“I may go as far as Chicago.”
“Is anyone with you?”
“No.”
“Perhaps you have friends in Chicago?”
“Not that I am aware of. I am traveling on business.”
“Indeed; you are rather young for a business man.”