Phil answered this question and several others which his honest country friend asked, but his mind was preoccupied, and he answered some of the questions at random. Finally he excused himself on the ground that he must be getting back to the store.
That evening Phil thought seriously of his position. Something must be done, that was very evident. His expenses exceeded his income, and he needed some clothing. There was no chance of getting his wages raised under a year, for he already received more pay than it was customary to give to a boy. What should he do?
Phil decided to lay his position frankly before the only friend he had in the city likely to help him—Mr. Oliver Carter. The old gentleman had been so friendly and kind that he felt that he would not at any rate repulse him. After he had come to this decision he felt better. He determined to lose no time in calling upon Mr. Carter.
After supper he brushed his hair carefully, and made himself look as well as circumstances would admit. Then he bent his steps toward Twelfth Street, where, as the reader will remember, Mr. Carter lived with his niece.
He ascended the steps and rang the bell. It was opened by Hannah, who recognized him, having admitted him on the former occasion of his calling.
“Good-evening,” said Phil pleasantly. “Is Mr. Carter at home?”
“No, sir,” answered Hannah. “Didn't you know he had gone to Florida?”
“Gone to Florida!” repeated Phil, his heart sinking. “When did he start?”
“He started this afternoon.”
“Who's asking after Uncle Oliver?” asked a boy's voice.