“No, sir.”
“Nor did I expect to be able to return for the ring before to-morrow, not supposing that I could bring witnesses to prove that I was what I represented. But fortunately I met just now a young friend, who can testify to my identity, as he has heard me preach frequently in Plainfield, where he resides. Mr. Young, will you be kind enough to tell this gentleman who I am?”
“Parson Barnes, of Hayfield Centre,” said the youth, confidently.
“You have heard me preach, have you not, in Plainfield?”
“Yes,” said the young man, fully believing that he was telling the truth.
“And I have called on your parents?”
“Yes.”
“I think,” said the adventurer, “that will be sufficient to convince you that I am what I appear.”
It was hard to doubt, in the face of such evidence. Ephraim Young was so unmistakably from the rural districts that it would have been absurd to suspect him of being an artful city rogue. Besides, Mr. Barnes himself was got up so naturally that all the clerk's doubts vanished at once. He concluded that the customer who had questioned his genuineness must be very much mistaken.
“I ought to apologize to you, sir,” he said, “for doubting your word. But in a city like this you know one has to be very careful.”