"Say no more about it, my young friend. I shall be glad to have you dine with me. I know a good place, quite near by."
"You are very kind," said Ben, "considering that I am a stranger."
"I have a young cousin who resembles you very closely. I suppose that is why I cannot regard you as a stranger. By the way, what is your name?"
"Ben Bradford."
"Singular coincidence! My cousin is named Benjamin. My name is John Smithson. Well, Ben, if you will allow me the familiarity, suppose we go to dinner."
"Thank you, Mr. Smithson."
Ben followed his new acquaintance to a moderately-priced restaurant in Fulton Street. It was the first time he had ever been to an eating-house, and looked with interest at the numerous tables.
Smithson and he took seats at a small table opposite each other, and the former began to inspect the bill of fare.
"I hope you have a good appetite, my young friend," he said, "so that you may do justice to my hospitality."
"City people seem to be very kind," thought Ben. "No one in Milltown would pay me such attention."