He drew from his pocket a highly glazed piece of pasteboard, bearing the name,
FREDERICK B. KENSINGTON.
"I haven't any cards with me," said Clapp, "but my name is John
Clapp."
"And mine is Luke Harrison," said the bearer of that appellation.
"I'm proud to know you, gentlemen. If you have no objection, we'll walk on together."
To this Clapp and Luke acceded readily. Indeed, they were rather proud of being seen in company with a young man so dashing in manner, and fashionably dressed, though in a pecuniary way their new acquaintance, by his own confession, was scarcely as well off as themselves.
"Where are you staying, Mr. Kensington?" said Clapp.
"At the hotel. It's a poor place. No style."
"Of course not. I can't help wondering, Mr. Kensington, what can bring you to such a one-horse place as this."
"I don't mind telling you, then. The fact is, I've got an old aunt living about two miles from here. She's alone in the world—got neither chick nor child—and is worth at least ten thousand dollars. Do you see?"