"I suppose you can find your way back to the hotel?"
"Oh, yes."
"Then I will go out. I don't care much for this sort of thing."
So Frank wandered on alone—alone, but surrounded by a crowd of all nationalities, visitors like himself to the great exhibition. On all sides he was surrounded by triumphs of art and skill gathered from all parts of the world.
"I wish I had some friend with me," he thought. "It's a splendid sight, but I should enjoy it better if I had somebody I liked to talk to. Wouldn't it be jolly if Ben Cameron were here! How he would enjoy it! Poor fellow! he's got his own way to make in the world—though I don't know as that is much of a misfortune, after all. I don't think I would mind it, though, of course, it's pleasant to have money."
As these thoughts passed through our hero's mind, he suddenly heard his name called in a loud voice, whose nasal twang could not be mistaken.
Turning in the direction from which it came, his face lighted up with pleasure as he recognized his fellow-passenger, Jonathan Tarbox.
The Yankee, looking as countrified as ever in the midst of the brilliant scene, was standing guard over his plow, which had been put together, and was occupying a place assigned it by the Committee of Arrangements.