"How are you, Jack? When did you come to the city?" asked the man, heartily.
"You have made a mistake," said Gerald. "My name is not Jack."
"Are'n't you Jack Mortimer of New Rochelle?" said the other in apparent surprise.
"No; my name is Gerald Lane."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Lane, but you are the exact picture of Jack. Jack is a fine looking boy of sixteen and my very good friend."
Gerald was human, and this adroit flattery impressed him favorably.
"Then I am sorry I am not Jack," he said, smiling.
"You don't need to wish yourself any one else," said the man, significantly. "Then you don't come from New Rochelle?"
"No; I am from Portville."
"Portville?" repeated the other, musing. "I don't think I know any one in Portville. I suppose you are in the city for the day?"