“I am going to New York to try to make a living.”

“I cannot commend your plan, my young friend, unless there is a good reason for it.”

“I think there is a good reason for it, sir.”

“I hope you have not run away from home?”

“No, sir; I left home with my step-mother’s knowledge and consent.”

“That is well.  I don’t want wholly to discourage you, and so I will tell you that I, too, came to New York at your age with the same object in view, with less money in my pocket than you possess.”

“And now you are the president of a railroad!” said Phil hopefully.

“Yes; but I had a hard struggle before I reached that position.”

“I am not afraid of hard work, sir.”

“That is in your favor.  Perhaps you may be as lucky as I have been.  You may call at my office in the city, if you feel inclined.”

As Mr. Grant spoke he put in Phil’s hand a card bearing his name and address, in Wall Street.

“Thank you, sir,” said Phil gratefully.  “I shall be glad to call.  I may need advice.”

“If you seek advice and follow it you will be an exception to the general rule,” said the president, smiling.  “One thing more—­you have met with a loss which, to you, is a serious one.  Allow me to bear it, and accept this bill.”

“But, sir, it is not right that you should bear it,” commenced Phil.  Then, looking at the bill, he said:  “Haven’t you made a mistake?  This is a ten-dollar bill.”

“I know it.  Accept the other five as an evidence of my interest in you.  By the way, I go to Philadelphia and Washington before my return to New York, and shall not return for three or four days.  After that time you will find me at my office.

“I am in luck after all,” thought Phil cheerfully, “in spite of the mean trick of Mr. Lionel Lake.”

CHAPTER VI.

Signor Orlando.

So Phil reached New York in very fair spirits.  He found himself, thanks to the liberality of Mr. Grant, in a better financial position than when he left home.

As he left the depot and found himself in the streets of New York, he felt like a stranger upon the threshold of a new life.  He knew almost nothing about the great city he had entered, and was at a loss where to seek for lodgings.

“It’s a cold day,” said a sociable voice at his elbow.

Looking around, Phil saw that the speaker was a sallow-complexioned young man, with black hair and mustache, a loose black felt hat, crushed at the crown, giving him rather a rakish look.

“Yes, sir,” answered Phil politely.

“Stranger in the city, I expect?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Never mind the sir.  I ain’t used to ceremony.  I am Signor Orlando.”

“Signor Orlando!” repeated Phil, rather puzzled.

“Are you an Italian?”