"Mr. Townsend seems very social," thought our hero, "but I think he is given to romancing. I don't believe he has anything more to do with a woolen mill in Fall River than I have."
Grit reached the station in time, and took his seat in the train. He bought a morning paper, and began to read.
"Ah, here you are, my young friend!" fell on his ears just after they passed Saco, and Grit, looking up, saw his breakfast companion.
"Is the seat beside you taken?" asked Mr. Daniel Townsend.
Grit would like to have said "yes," but he was compelled to admit that it was unengaged.
"So much the better for me," said the woolen manufacturer, and he sat down beside our hero.
He had with him a small, well-worn valise, which looked as if in some remote period it had seen better days. He laid it down, and, looking keenly about, observed Grit's parcel, which, though commonplace in appearance, contained, as we know, thirty thousand dollars in government bonds.
"It is rather a long ride to Boston," said Mr. Townsend.
"Yes; but it seems shorter when you have something to read," answered Grit, looking wistfully at his paper, which he would have preferred reading to listening to the conversation of his neighbor.
"I never care to read on the cars," said Mr. Townsend. "I think it is injurious to the eyes. Do you ever find it so?"