“And you opened your eyes and saw me,” said the sexton, finishing out his narrative.

“Upon my word, that’s very complimentary to me.  However, some of our potatoes have escaped transformation into gold pieces, but I am afraid you will find them rather cold if you don’t get down to breakfast pretty quick.”

“All right, Uncle Hugh.  I’ll be down in a jiffy.”

About half-past ten Paul started on his way to Mr. Danforth’s counting-room.  It was located on Wall Street, as he learned from the card which had been given him by Mrs. Danforth.  He felt a little awkward in making this call.  It seemed as if he were going to receive thanks for the service which he had rendered, and he felt that he had already been abundantly repaid.  However, he was bound in courtesy to call, since he did so at the request of Mrs. Danforth.

It was a large stone building, divided up into offices, to which Paul had been directed.  Mr. Danforth’s office he found after a little search, upon the second floor.

He opened the door with a little embarrassment, and looked about him.

In one corner was a small room, used as a more private office, the door of which was closed.  In the larger room the only one whom he saw, was a boy, apparently about his own age, who was standing at a desk and writing.

This boy looked around as Paul entered, and he at once recognized in him an old acquaintance.

“George Dawkins!” he exclaimed in surprise.

The latter answered in a careless indifferent tone, not exhibiting any very decided pleasure at meeting his old schoolmate.

“Oh, it’s you, Prescott, is it?”

“Yes,” said Paul, “I haven’t met you since you left our school.”

“No, I believe we have not met,” said Dawkins, in the same tone as before.

“How long have you been in this office?” asked our hero.

“I really can’t say,” said Dawkins, not looking up.

“You can’t say!”

“No, I’m rather forgetful.”

Paul could not help feeling chilled at the indifferent manner in which his advances were met.  He had been really glad to see Dawkins, and had addressed him with cordiality.  He could not conceal from himself that Dawkins did not seem inclined to respond to it.

“Still,” thought Paul, extenuatingly, “perhaps that is his way.”

As the conversation began to flag, Paul was reminded of his errand by Dawkins saying, in a tone which was half a sneer, “Have you any business with Mr. Danforth this morning, or did you merely come in out of curiosity?”

“I have called to see Mr. Danforth,” said Paul.

“He is usually pretty busy in the morning,” said Dawkins.

“He directed me to call in the morning,” said Paul, sturdily.

“Oh, indeed!” said Dawkins, a little surprised.  “I wonder,” he thought, “what business this fellow can have with Mr. Danforth.  Can he be fishing for a place?”