native town, to one of
the large churches of the same sect in New York, and when admitted,
hired a sitting and became a regular attendant at both morning and
evening service. In time this produced a call from his new pastor. It
was the first new friend he had gained in New York. "He seems a quiet,
well-informed fellow," was the clergyman's comment; "I shall make a
point of seeing something of him." But he was pastor of a very large and
rich congregation, and was a hard-worked and hard-entertained man, so
his intention was not realized.

Peter spent Christmastide with his mother, who worried not a little over
his loss of flesh.

"You have been overworking," she said anxiously.

"Why mother, I haven't had a client yet," laughed Peter.

"Then you've worried over not getting on," said his mother, knowing
perfectly well that it was nothing of the sort. She had hoped that Peter
would be satisfied with his six months' trial, but did not mention her
wish. She marvelled to herself that New York had not yet discovered his
greatness.

When Peter returned to the city, he made a change in his living
arrangements. His boarding-place had filled up with the approach of
winter, but with the class of men he already knew too well. Even though
he met them only at meals, their atmosphere was intolerable to him. When
a room next his office fell vacant, and went begging at a very cheap
price, he decided to use it as a bedroom. So he moved his few belongings
on his return from his visit to his mother's.

Although he had not been particularly friendly to the other boarders,
nor made himself obtrusive in the least, not one of them failed to speak
of his leaving. Two or three affected to be pleased, but
"Butter-and-cheese" said he "was a first-rate chap," and this seemed to
gain the assent of the table generally.

"I'm dreadfully sorry to lose him," his landlady informed her other
boarders, availing herself, perhaps, of the chance to deliver a side hit
at some of them. "He never has complained once, since he came here, and
he kept his room as neat as if he had to take care of it himself."

"Well," said the box-office oracle, "I guess he's O.K., if he is a bit
stiff; and a fellow who's best man to a big New York swell, and gets his
name in all the papers, doesn't belong in a seven-dollar,
hash-seven-days-a-week, Bleecker Street boarding-house."

Peter fitted his room up simply, the sole indulgence (if properly so
called) being a bath,