eat broker.

"I never expected to know such a man as that," thought Fred. "I wish he
would give me a position in his office. That would be much better worth
having than my present place."

"Why are you so late, Fred?" asked his mother, when he reached home.

"I had to make a call on Mr. Wainwright, the broker," answered Fred.

"I guess you are only funning," said Albert.

"No, I am not. I am invited to call again to-morrow evening."

"What for?"

"Perhaps he's going to take me into partnership," said Fred in joke.

CHAPTER XXIV.

FRED'S GOOD LUCK.

Fred made a short trip the next day, and returned home at four o'clock.
He was glad to be back so early, as it gave him time to prepare for his
evening visit. Naturally his mind had dwelt upon it more or less during
the day, and he looked forward to the occasion with pleasant
anticipations. The broker's gracious manners led Fred to think of him
as a friend.

"I would like to be in the employ of such a man," he reflected.

He started from home in good season, and found himself on the broker's
steps on the stroke of eight.

The door was opened by the same servant as on the evening previous, but
he treated Fred more respectfully, having overheard Mr. Wainwright
speak of him cordially.

So when Fred asked, "Is Mr. Wainwright at home?" he answered "Yes, sir;
come right in. I believe as you are expected."

The old man was descending the stairs as Fred entered, and immediately
recognized him.

"Ha, my young friend!" he said. "I am glad to see you," and he held out
his hand.

"I hope you are feeling better, sir," said Fred respectfully.

"Oh, yes, thank you. I feel quite myself to-day. It was the length of
the journey that upset and fatigued me. I couldn't travel every day, as
you do."

"No, sir, I suppose not now; but when you were of my age it would have
been different."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"And I am seventy-one, the same figures, but reversed. That makes a
great difference. Come in here; my nephew will be down at once."

The train boy followed the old gentleman into the handsome drawing-room,
and sat down on a sofa feeling, it must be owned, not quite as much at
home as he would have done in a plainer house.

"Did you make much to-day?" asked Silas Corwin (that was his name) in a
tone of interest.

"No, sir, it was a poor day. I only sold three dollars' worth."

"And how much did that yield you?"

"Sixty cents. I have a com