Phil continued his conversation with Ragged ****, and was much amused by his quaint way of expressing himself.
When they reached Murray Street, **** said:
"Follow me. We'll cut across the City Hall Park.
It is the shortest way."
Soon they reached the shabby old building with which New Yorkers were then obliged to be content with as a post-office.
Phil secured the mail matter for Pitkin & Co., and was just about leaving the office, when he noticed just ahead of him a figure which looked very familiar.
It flashed upon him of a sudden that it was his old train acquaintance, Lionel Lake. He immediately hurried forward and touched his arm.
Mr. Lake, who had several letters in his hand, started nervously, and turned at the touch. He recognized Phil, but appeared not to do so.
"What do you wish, boy?" he asked, loftily.
"I want to speak a word with you, Mr. Lake."
The young man shrugged his shoulders.
"You are mistaken in the person," he said. "My name is not Lake."
"Very likely not," said Phil significantly, "but that's what you called yourself when we met on the train."
"I repeat, boy, that you are strangely mistaken.
My name is"--he paused slightly--"John Montgomery."
"Just as you please. Whatever your name is, I have a little business with you."
"I can't stop. My business is urgent," said Lake.
"Then I will be brief. I lent you five dollars on a ring which I afterward discovered to be stolen. I want you to return that money."
Mr. Lake looked about him apprehensively, for he did not wish any one to hear what Phil was saying.
"You must be crazy!" he said. "I never saw you before in the whole course of my life."
He shook off Phil's detaining hand, and was about to hurry away, but Phil said resolutely:
"You can't deceive me, Mr. Lake. Give me that money, or I will call a policeman."
Now, it happened that a policeman was passing just outside, and Lake could see him.
"This is an infamous outrage!" he said, "but I have an important appointment, and can't be detained.
Take the money. I give it to you in charity."
Phil gladly received and pocketed the bank-note, and relinquishing his hold of Mr. Lake, rejoined ****, who had been an interested eye-witness of the interview.
"I see you've got pluck," said ****. "What's it all about?"
Phil told him.
"I ain't a bit s'prised," said ****. "I could tell by his looks that the man was a skin."
"Well, I'm even with him, at any rate," said Phil.
"Now I'll be getting back to the office. Thank you for your guidance. Here's a quarter."
"You only promised me ten cents."
"It's worth a quarter. I hope to meet you again."
"We'll meet at Astor's next party," said ****, with a grin. "My invite came yesterday."
"Mine hasn't come yet," said Phil, smiling.
"Maybe it'll come to-morrow."
"He's a queer chap," thought Phil. "He's fit for something better than blacking boots. I hope he'll have the luck to get it."
Phil had been detained by his interview with Mr. Lake, but he made up for it by extra speed, and reached the warehouse in fair time. After delivering the letters he was sent out on another errand, and during the entire day he was kept busy.
Leaving him for the moment we go back to the Pitkin mansion, and listen to & conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Pitkin.
"Uncle Oliver is getting more and more eccentric every day," said the lady. "He brought home a boy to lunch to-day--some one whom he had picked up in the street."
"Was the boy's name Philip Brent?" asked her husband.
