"I always go to bed at nine o'clock when I'm to home," he said. "Folks here in York seem to sit up all night."
CHAPTER XII. CLAYTON'S SCHEME.
About ten o'clock in the forenoon Clarence Clayton entered the Somerset Hotel and looked about for the Orange County farmer. Clayton was clean shaved, his shoes were brilliantly polished, and there was a rose in his buttonhole.
"My dear old friend," he said, with effusion, as he espied Josiah Onthank sitting near the door, "I hope you are feeling in the best of health this fine morning."
"Thank you, Mr. Clayton. I feel pooty smart. Why, you're all dressed up. You look as if you'd just come out of a bandbox."
"Men in my position have to be particular about their appearance. Now if I was in the country I wouldn't care, but I have an appointment with Mr. Vanderbilt this morning, and, of course, I must be particular."
"Do you know Mr. Vanderbilt?" asked Mr. Onthank, considerably impressed.