"To Cleveland."
"Got relations there, I suppose?"
"No," said Walter; "I am going on business."
He was rather glad to let his companion know that he, too, was in business.
"You're young to be in business," said his companion. "What sort of business is it?"
"I am an agent for Flint & Pusher, a New York firm."
"Publishers, aint they?"
"Yes, sir."
Walter's companion was a young man of twenty-five, or possibly a year or two older. He was rather flashily attired, with a cut-away coat and a low-cut vest, double-breasted, across which glittered a massive chain, which might have been gold, or might only have been gilt, since all that glitters is not gold. At any rate, it answered the purpose of making a show. His cravat was showy, and his whole appearance indicated absence of good taste. A cautious employer would scarcely have selected him from a crowd of applicants for a confidential position. Walter was vaguely conscious of this. Still he had seen but little of the world, and felt incompetent to judge others.
"Are you going right through to Cleveland?" inquired the stranger.