Somehow Frank in his new life seemed always running across Victor Dupont. That young gentleman and his sister sat in the row behind Mrs. Vivian and her youthful escort, but did not immediately become aware of it.
"Why, Victor," said his sister, who had been looking about her, "there is Mrs. Vivian in the next row. Who is that nice-looking boy with her? It can't be Fred, for he is larger."
Victor turned his glance in the direction of Mrs. Vivian. His surprise and disgust were about equal when he saw the country-boy he had looked down upon, faultlessly attired, with neat-fitting gloves, and a rose in his button-hole and looking like a gentleman.
"I never saw such cheek!" he exclaimed, in disgust.
"What do you mean, Victor?" asked his sister, looking puzzled.
"Do you want to know who that boy is with Mrs. Vivian?"
"Yes; he is very nice-looking."
"Then you can marry him if you like. That boy is a telegraph messenger. I used to know him in the country. A few weeks ago he was selling papers in front of the Astor House."
"You don't say so!" ejaculated Flora Dupont, "Aren't you mistaken?"
"I guess not. I know him as well as I know you."