“You are a stranger in the village?” he said, with some curiosity.

“Yes, I was never here before.  I come from New York.”

“Indeed!  If I lived in New York I’d stay there, and not come to such a beastly place as Centreville.”

“Do you live here?” asked the stranger.

“Yes.”

“I wonder you live in such a beastly place,” he said, with a smile.

“You wouldn’t, if you knew the reason.”

“What is the reason?”

“I can’t get away.”

The stranger laughed.

“Cruel parents?” he asked.

“Not much,” said Clapp.  “The plain reason is, that I haven’t got money enough to get me out of town.”

“It’s the same with me,” said Luke Harrison.

“Gentlemen, we are well met,” said the stranger.  “I’m hard up myself.”

“You don’t look like it,” said Luke, glancing at his rather flashy attire.

“These clothes are not paid for,” said the stranger, laughing; “and what’s more, I don’t think they are likely to be.  But, I take it, you gentlemen are better off than I in one respect.  You’ve got situations—­something to do.”

“Yes, but on starvation pay,” said Clapp.  “I’m in the office of the ‘Centreville Gazette.’”

“And I’m in a shoemaker’s shop.  It’s a beastly business for a young man of spirit,” said Luke.

“Well, I’m a gentleman at large, living on my wits, and pretty poor living it is sometimes,” said the stranger.  “As I think we’ll agree together pretty well, I’m glad I’ve met you.  We ought to know each other better.  There’s my card.”

He drew from his pocket a highly glazed piece of pasteboard, bearing the name,

    Frederick B. Kensington.

“I haven’t any cards with me,” said Clapp, “but my name is John Clapp.”

“And mine is Luke Harrison,” said the bearer of that appellation.

“I’m proud to know you, gentlemen.  If you have no objection, we’ll walk on together.”

To this Clapp and Luke acceded readily.  Indeed, they were rather proud of being seen in company with a young man so dashing in manner, and fashionably dressed, though in a pecuniary way their new acquaintance, by his own confession, was scarcely as well off as themselves.

“Where are you staying, Mr. Kensington?” said Clapp.

“At the hotel.  It’s a poor place.  No style.”

“Of course not.  I can’t help wondering, Mr. Kensington, what can bring you to such a one-horse place as this.”

“I don’t mind telling you, then.  The fact is, I’ve got an old aunt living about two miles from here.  She’s alone in the world—­got neither chick nor child—­and is worth at least ten thousand dollars.  Do you see?”

“I think I do,” said Clapp.  “You want to come in for a share of the stamps.”

“Yes; I want to see if I can’t get something out of the old girl,” said Kensington, carelessly.