Mr. Manning listened to the several conversations without taking a very active part in them; but once, when he and Myles were alone in the room, he said:
“You are learning one of the most difficult lessons of life, my son; but you seem to have set about it manfully, and I believe you will finally master it. When you do, you will have acquired a knowledge of infinite value. I mean a knowledge of self-control, self-reliance, and strict obedience to the orders of your own conscience.”
Thus, in spite of the fact that he was wellnigh penniless and out of work, with no certain prospect of obtaining any sort of a position, Myles returned to the city, that bright autumn Monday morning, full of hope and determination.
“I will have some sort of a place, as good if not better than the one I have lost before I come home again! See if I don’t!” was his mental exclamation.
He went first to his lodgings. There the landlady informed him that a gentleman had called only a few minutes before, who said he wished to see him on important business, and had seemed greatly disappointed when told that he was out. He had offered to wait, but she told him he would be more likely to catch Mr. Manning at the Phonograph office than anywhere else, and that he had better wait there.
“Didn’t he leave any message?” asked Myles.
“No; nor a card; and he wouldn’t even tell his name; for he said you would not know any better who he was if he did, but that he’d meet you somewhere during the day.”
“I only hope he may,” said Myles, as he started up-stairs, “but I don’t think it is very likely.”
“Oh, Mr. Manning,” called the landlady, “a letter came here for you by the mail this morning, and I laid it on your table.”
“My prospects are certainly looking up,” thought Myles, who was not in the habit of receiving letters at any other place than the office—“a man on important business and a letter both in one morning. I wonder who the one could have been; and who the other is from? Perhaps it is from Mr. Saxon.”