“No, sir; I should like very much to know.”

“I propose to visit Italy and perhaps Sicily. We shall go first to Paris, and remain a short time.” Bernard’s eyes sparkled. He had always wished to visit the continent, and had expected to do so in the company of Professor Puffer, but he felt that he should enjoy himself much more in the companionship of Walter Cunningham. Even had Puffer proved a reliable man, there was nothing about him to win the good will and attachment¹ of a boy of his age.

“I shall enjoy it very much, Mr. Cunningham,” said Bernard.

“So I hope. I have not told you much about myself,” continued the young man, “but as we are to be companions and friends it is proper that I should do so.”

Bernard did not speak, but his face expressed unmistakable interest.

“I am alone in the world. My father and mother are dead, and I never had a brother or sister. My father was a wealthy man of business and a man of note, having reached (this was two years before he died) the position of Lord Mayor of London. He contracted a fever at his country house, where, it appeared, the drainage was bad. Two years since, just after I had attained² my majority, he died, my mother having preceded him; and I was left in possession of a hundred thousand pounds.”

“Half a million of dollars!” said Bernard.

“Yes, that is the way it would be rated in America. In a pecuniary³ way, therefore, I am fortunate, but I can’t tell you how solitary⁴ I feel at times.”

“I can understand it, Mr. Cunningham. I am in the same position as yourself, only that I am left destitute⁵.”

“Then it appears to me, Bernard, there is a special propriety⁶ in our being together. How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

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