It was yet early, and there were but few persons in the car. But as the hour for starting approached, it gradually filled up. Still, the seat next to Herbert remained untaken.

At length a young man, apparently¹ about nineteen, walked up the aisle², and, pausing, inquired, “Is this seat engaged?”

“No,” said Herbert, at the same time removing his bundle.

“Then, if you have no objection, I'll take possession.”

He accordingly seated himself, and commenced a conversation.

“Going to New York?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Herbert.

“Do you live there?”

“No; I have never been there before.”

“Are you going on a visit?”

“No; I am going to live there; that is, if I can find anything to do.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“So am I. Suppose we hitch³ teams.”

“I don't understand.”

“Suppose we go to some hotel together. I have been there before, and can tell you where to go. It's awful dull being alone. I always like to pick up company.”

Herbert hardly knew what to say to this proposition. He did not exactly like the appearance, or fancy the free and easy manners of his new acquaintance, but he felt lonely, and, besides, he hardly knew what excuse to make. He, therefore, gave his assent⁴ to the arrangement proposed.

“What's your name?” asked his new friend, familiarly.

“Herbert Mason.”

“Mine is Greenleaf—Peter Greenleaf. Have you come from a distance?”

“From Waverley, in Ohio, not far from Cincinnati.”

“I am from Philadelphia. I've been in a store there, but I didn't like the style, and I concluded to go to New York. There's more chance for a fellow of enterprise there.”

“What sort of a store were you in?”

“Dry-goods store—Hatch & Macy. Old Hatch is a mean skinflint, and wouldn't pay me half what I was worth. I don't want to

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