So nearly a week passed. It so chanced that though Uncle Oliver had now been in New York a considerable time, not one of the Pitkins had met him or had reason to suspect that he was nearer than Florida.
One day, however, among Mrs. Pitkin's callers was Mrs. Vangriff, a fashionable acquaintance.
“Mr. Oliver Carter is your uncle, I believe?” said the visitor.
“Yes.”
“I met him on Broadway the other day. He was looking very well.”
“It must have been a fortnight since, then. Uncle Oliver is in Florida.”
“In Florida!” repeated Mrs. Vangriff, in surprise.
“When did he go?”
“When was it, Lonny?” asked Mrs. Pitkin, appealing to her son.
“It will be two weeks next Thursday.”