“I think you still carry a few passengers?”

“Yes; a little more than a year ago three young fellows prevailed upon me to carry them across.  About that time I enlarged my cabin, and since then I have been carrying from four to twenty passengers each trip.”

When the captain spoke of carrying to New York three passengers a year before Worth became quietly interested.  Accordingly, he inquired who the three young fellows were that were his first passengers.

“O, they were three young chaps going to America to seek their fortunes.  Their names I’ve forgotten.  The most I remember of that trip is that it was the stormiest passage I’ve ever made.  It was a six weeks’ voyage, and the worst of it was we could not have a fire, and, consequently, could not cook anything, and had to live on hard tack and raw pork, or beef.  I tell you, those young fellows were unanimous in declaring that they had their fill of the seafaring life.”

“Have you ever met them since?”

“No.” was the reply.  “We parted at the dock.  I have sometimes wondered what success they had.  They were quite young.”

About three weeks later Job Worth landed in New York City, and, guided by an advertisement in the newspaper, he found a select boarding house on Clinton Place and engaged a convenient room with board for an indefinite term.  Job represented himself as a gentleman traveling for pleasure—­and information, he might have added, for his quest for the latter certainly took him nearly everywhere.  Thus he visited the theatres, concert halls, casinos, and other places of amusement.  He called at the private office of the Pinkerton Detective Agency several times, but nothing was accomplished.  He mingled with the congregations of the more popular churches, with his mind and eyes upon the people more than upon the preacher, but without results.

One morning he sat in the reception room of his boarding place feeling somewhat discouraged.  He was reading a morning paper, when a young girl, the daughter of the lady of the house, tripped along the hall holding several letters which the postman had just handed in.

“O, Mr. Worth,” she exclaimed, “I want to show you the picture of my last beau.  He is a countryman of yours.  He promised to send me his photograph, and here it is.  He is good looking, isn’t he?” And she handed the card to Worth.  “I didn’t expect him to keep his promise,” she concluded.

As Worth glanced at the picture, he was startled, for his eyes fell upon a face he had seen in the junior class a year ago at Burrough Road commencement.  Turning the card over, he read on the back:  “From your ever true friend and well-wisher, J.G.  Markham, Evansville, Indiana.”

“What is your friend’s name?” asked Worth.

“James Thorne,” answered the girl.  “Did you ever see him?”

In an indifferent tone Worth replied:  “Don’t know anybody of that name.”