of mind. Tom, on the other
hand, felt, as he returned to his unfashionable lodgings, that he had
never before had so pleasant an evening.

CHAPTER XII.

TOM GAINS A LITTLE INFORMATION.

Though our hero was occupied considerably with thoughts of Bessie
Benton, he did not lose sight of the two principal objects he had in
visiting Cincinnati. One was, to ascertain the whereabouts of his
uncle, the other, to obtain something to do. His cash was low, and he
must find some employment.

He consulted a copy of the city directory, which he found in the office
of the hotel; but, though he found plenty of Greys, he found but one
bearing the name of James Grey. This one was a carpenter, and, of
course, could not be his uncle.

"He must have left the city," thought Tom. "I wonder where his place of
business was? I might find out something there."

"Have you any old directories?" he asked, at the office.

"How far back?"

"Five or six years."

"We have one of six years back."

"Will you let me look at that?"

The volume was found, after some difficulty, and put in Tom's hands. He
turned at once to the g's, and, to his great joy, found the name of
James Grey, merchant. His place of business was also given.

"That's something," thought our hero. "I'll go there at once."

There was no difficulty in finding the street and number, but there was
a new name on the sign:

WILLIAM FERGUSON.

Tom entered, and asked the first clerk he met if he could see Mr.
Ferguson.

"What's your business?" inquired the subordinate.

"With Mr. Ferguson," answered Tom, promptly.

"Wouldn't I do as well?"

"How long have you been here?"

"What do you want to know that for?"

"If you've been here five years, I'll tell you."

"I haven't."

"Then I want to see Mr. Ferguson."

"It strikes me you are a young man of some importance."

"I am glad you have found it out," said our hero, coolly. "If you're
not too much pressed by important business," (the clerk was leaning
back, picking his teeth), "perhaps you wouldn't mind asking Mr.
Ferguson if he will see a merchant from New York."

The clerk laughed.

"You're a hard nut to crack, young man," he said.

"Don't try to crack me, then."

The clerk went into the counting-room, and, returning quickly, told Tom
he might go in.

Entering, Tom found himself in the presence of a man of about forty.

"Do you wish to see me?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. I should like to ask if y