CHAPTER IX.
A PLAUSIBLE STRANGER.
Three days later found Carl still on his travels. It was his custom to obtain his meals at a cheap hotel, or, if none were met with, at a farmhouse, and to secure lodgings where he could, and on as favorable terms as possible. He realized the need of economy, and felt that he was practicing it. He had changed his ten-dollar bill the first day, for a five and several ones. These last were now spent, and the five-dollar bill alone remained to him. He had earned nothing, though everywhere he had been on the lookout for a job.
Toward the close of the last day he overtook a young man of twenty-five, who was traveling in the same direction.
“Good-afternoon,” said the young man, sociably.
“Good-afternoon, sir.”
“Where are you bound, may I ask?”
“To the next town.”
“Fillmore?”
“Yes, if that is the name.”