“You have a difficult and perplexing task, Luke,” said the capitalist.  “You may not succeed.”

“I will do my best, Mr. Armstrong.”

“That is all I have a right to expect.  If you succeed, you will do me a great service, of which I shall show proper appreciation.”

He gave Luke some instructions, and it was arranged that our hero should write twice a week, and, if occasion required, oftener, so that his employer might be kept apprised of his movements.

Luke was not to stop short of Chicago.  There his search was to begin; and there, if possible, he was to obtain information that might guide his subsequent steps.

It is a long ride to Chicago, as Luke found.  He spent a part of the time in reading, and a part in looking out of the window at the scenery, but still, at times, he felt lonely.

“I wish Linton Tomkins were with me,” he reflected.  “What a jolly time we would have!”

But Linton didn’t even know what had become of his friend.  Luke’s absence was an occasion for wonder at Groveton, and many questions were asked of his mother.

“He was sent for by Mr. Reed,” answered the widow.  “He is at work for him.”

“Mr. Reed is in New York, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

It was concluded, therefore, that Luke was in New York, and one or two persons proposed to call upon him there, but his mother professed ignorance of his exact residence.  She knew that he was traveling, but even she was kept in the dark as to where he was, nor did she know that Mr. Armstrong, and not Mr. Reed, was his employer.

Some half dozen hours before reaching Chicago, a young man of twenty-five, or thereabouts, sauntered along the aisle, and sat down in the vacant seat beside Luke.

“Nice day,” he said, affably.

“Very nice,” responded Luke.

“I suppose you are bound to Chicago?”

“Yes, I expect to stay there awhile.”

“Going farther?”

“I can’t tell yet.”

“Going to school out there?”

“No.”

“Perhaps you are traveling for some business firm, though you look pretty young for that.”

“No, I’m not a drummer, if that’s what you mean.  Still, I have a commisison from a New York business man.”

“A commission—­of what kind?” drawled the newcomer.

“It is of a confidential character,” said Luke.

“Ha! close-mouthed,” thought the young man.  “Well, I’ll get it out of him after awhile.”

He didn’t press the question, not wishing to arouse suspicion or mistrust.

“Just so,” he replied.  “You are right to keep it to yourself, though you wouldn’t mind trusting me if you knew me better.  Is this your first visit to Chicago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Suppose we exchange cards.  This is mine.”

He handed Luke a card, bearing this name.

J. MADISON COLEMAN