"Why, Victor," he said, eagerly, extending his hand, "how glad I am to see you!"
Frank forgot that intimacy in the country does not necessarily lead to intimacy in the city, and he was considerably surprised when Victor, not appearing to notice his offered hand, said coldly, "I don't think I remember you."
"Don't remember me!" exclaimed Frank, amazed. "Why, I am Frank Kavanagh! Don't you remember how much we were together last summer, and what good times we had fishing and swimming together?"
"Yes, I believe I do remember you now," drawled Victor, still not offering his hand, or expressing any pleasure at the meeting. "When did you come to the city?"
"I have been here two or three weeks," replied Frank.
"Oh, indeed! Are you going to remain?"
"Yes, if I can earn a living."
Victor scanned Frank's clothes with a critical, and evidently rather contemptuous, glance.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "Are you in a store?"
"No; I am selling papers."