In a few minutes they were sitting on one of the benches, looking out to Governor's Island.
"It's a great privilege to live in New York, Mr. Onthank. I think your son would enjoy it."
"I know he would. Why, Ephraim would give all his old boots to be at work here."
"If they were all cowhide boots like yours the offer wouldn't be very tempting," thought Clayton.
"Yes," he said, "I can easily believe it. May I ask what wages your son would expect."
"Well, I reckon twenty-five to thirty dollars a month would satisfy him."
"Twenty-five to thirty dollars a month! Why, my dear friend, what are you thinking of?"
"I thought he couldn't live in the city in good style for less," said the farmer, deprecatingly.
"Of course, of course, but you don't understand me. I wouldn't think of offering him less than seventy-five dollars a month, to begin with."
"Gosh! you don't mean it?" said the farmer, his eyes opened wide.