CHAPTER XV. MR. SYLVESTER'S BIRTHDAY.
The next day Rupert received a letter at the Somerset Hotel. It was signed by Frank Sylvester, and ran thus:
"Dear Rupert: To-morrow is my birthday. Come and spend the evening with me. I will wait dinner till you come.
"Your Friend,
"Frank Sylvester."
Rupert decided at once to accept the invitation. He had learned to like Sylvester, as indeed he had reason to do.
He was in doubt as to whether there would be much company, but he was not provided with a nice suit, so that he need not be ashamed of his appearance. Arrived at his friend's residence, he found to his surprise that there was but one other guest besides himself, a Mr. Maxwell, a stout, pleasant-looking man of forty-five.
"Rupert," said Sylvester, "this is my cousin, John Maxwell. He is not an idler like myself, but is a partner in a large dry-goods house down on Grand Street. John, this is a special friend of mine. When we first met he was able to do me a service which I shall long remember. I am rather young to adopt him, having only reached the age of twenty-five."
"Quarter of a century," laughed Maxwell.