“At the depot.”
“You can have it sent to my house. You will stay there till I can get you a boarding-place or make some other arrangement for you. Do you know where I live?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give your check to an expressman, and tell him to bring it round. Stay, here is my son. I will put you in his charge.”
A boy, about Gilbert’s age, had just entered the office. He was the counterpart of his father, and no one could be likely to mistake the relationship. He glanced at Gilbert, but did not speak.
“Randolph, this is Gilbert Greyson,” said his father.
“Good-morning,” said Randolph, curtly. “Father, I want five dollars.”
“What for? It seems to me you are always wanting money.”
“Everybody needs money,” said the son, pertly. “I want to go to a matinée this afternoon.”
“I want you to go with Gilbert; he is going to stop with us a short time.”