“Suppose we go in somewhere and have a game of billiards?” suggested
Conrad.

“I don’t play,” answered Ben.

“I’ll teach you; come along,” urged Conrad.

“It is getting late, and I would rather not.”

“I suppose you go to roost with the chickens in the country?” sneered Conrad.  You’ll learn better in the city—­if you stay.”

“There is another reason,” continued Ben.  “I suppose it costs money to play billiards, and I have none to spare.”

“Only twenty-five cents a game.”

“It will be cheaper to go to bed.”

“You won’t do anything a fellow wants you to,” grumbled Conrad.  “You needn’t be so mean, when you are getting ten dollars a week.”

“I have plenty to do with my money, and I want to save up something every week.”

On the whole the boys did not take to each other.  They took very different views of life and duty, and there seemed to be small prospect of their becoming intimate friends.

Mrs. Hamilton had gone to bed when they returned, but Mrs. Hill was up watching for her son.  She was a cold, disagreeable woman, but she was devoted to her boy.

“I am glad you have come home so soon,” she said.

“I wanted to play a game of billiards, but Ben wouldn’t,” grumbled Conrad.

“If you had done so, I should have had to sit up later for you, Conrad.”

“There was no use in sitting up for me.  I ain’t a baby,” responded Conrad ungratefully.

“You know I can’t sleep when I know you are out, Conrad.”

“Then you’re very foolish.  Isn’t she, Ben?”

“My mother would feel just so,” answered Ben.

Mrs. Hill regarded him almost kindly.  He had done her a good turn in bringing her son home in good season.

“She may be a disagreeable woman,” thought Ben, “but she is good to Conrad,” and this made him regard the housekeeper with more favor.

CHAPTER XXII A MYSTERIOUS LETTER

From time to time, Mrs. Hamilton sent Ben on errands to different parts of the city, chiefly to those who had been started in business with capital which she had supplied.  One afternoon, he was sent to a tailor on Sixth Avenue with a note, the contents of which were unknown to him.

“You may wait for an answer,” said Mrs. Hamilton.

He readily found the tailor’s shop, and called for Charles Roberts, the proprietor.

The latter read the note, and said, in a business like tone: 

“Come to the back part of the shop, and I will show you some goods.”

Ben regarded him in surprise.

“Isn’t there some mistake?” he said.  “I didn’t know I was to look at any goods.”

“As we are to make a suit for you, I supposed you would have some choice in the matter,” returned the tailor, equally surprised.

“May I look at the letter?” asked Ben.