So granny, in rather low spirits, sought her elevated room, and threw herself upon the bed to sleep off her fatigue.
On awaking, granny seated herself at the window, and picked up mechanically the advertising sheet of the “Herald,” in which a loaf of bread had been wrapped that had been given to her the day previous. It was seldom that Mrs. Walsh indulged in reading, not possessing very marked literary tastes; but to-day she was seized with an idle impulse, which she obeyed, without anticipating that she would see anything that concerned her.
In glancing through the advertisements under the head “Personal,” her attention was drawn to the following:—
/# “If Margaret Walsh, who left Philadelphia in the year 1855, will call at No. — Wall Street, Room 8, she will hear of something to her advantage.” #/
“Why, that’s me!” exclaimed granny, letting the paper fall from her lap in surprise. “It’s my name, and I left Philadelphy that year. I wonder what it’s about. Maybe it’s about Tom.”
There were circumstances which led Mrs. Walsh to think it by no means improbable that the inquiries to be made were about Tom, and this made her regret more keenly that she had lost her.
“If it is,” she soliloquized, “I’ll get hold of her somehow.”
There was one part of the advertisement which particularly interested granny,—that in which it was suggested that she would hear something to her advantage. If there was any money to be made, granny was entirely willing to make it. Considering the unpromising state of her prospects, she felt that it was a piece of extraordinary good luck.
Looking at the date of the paper, she found that it was a fortnight old, and was troubled by the thought that it might be too late. At any rate no time was to be lost. So, in spite of the fatigue of her morning expedition, she put on her old cloak and bonnet, and, descending the stairs, sallied out into the street. She made her way down Nassau Street to Wall, and, carefully looking about her, found without difficulty the number mentioned in the advertisement. It was a large building, containing a considerable number of offices. No. 8 was on the third floor. On the door was a tin sign bearing the name:—
“EUGENE SELDEN,