“I am living with a married niece,” he said, “just on the other side of Fifth Avenue.”
At the door of a handsome four-story house, with a brown-stone front, the old gentleman paused, and told Phil that this was his residence.
“Then, sir, I will bid you good-morning,” said Phil.
“No, no; come in and lunch with me,” said Mr. Carter hospitably.
He had, by the way, mentioned that his name was Oliver Carter, and that he was no longer actively engaged in business, but was a silent partner in the firm of which his nephew by marriage was the nominal head.
“Thank you, sir,” answered Phil.
He was sure that the invitation was intended to be accepted, and he saw no reason why he should not accept it.
“Hannah,” said the old gentleman to the servant who opened the door, “tell your mistress that I have brought a boy home to dinner with me.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Hannah, surveying Phil in some surprise.
“Come up to my room, my young friend,” said Mr. Carter. “You may want to prepare for lunch.”