“I don’t care to do that.  I shall be entirely willing to introduce you when there is a good chance.”

This seemed to appease Mr. Wilbur, who became once more gracious.

“Philip,” he said, as the hour of closing approached, “why can’t you come around and call upon me this evening?”

“So I will,” answered Phil readily.

Indeed, he found it rather hard to fill up his evenings, and was glad to have a way suggested.

“Do.  I want to tell you a secret.”

“Where do you live?” asked Phil.

“No.——­ East Twenty-second Street.”

“All right.  I will come round about half-past seven.”

Though Wilbur lived in a larger house than he, Phil did not like his room as well.  There being only one chair in the room, Mr. Wilbur put his visitor in it, and himself sat on the bed.

There was something of a mystery in the young man’s manner as, after clearing his throat, he said to Phil: 

“I am going to tell you a secret.”

Phil’s curiosity was somewhat stirred, and he signified that he would like to hear it.

“I have for some time wanted a confidant,” said Mr. Wilbur.  “I did not wish to trust a mere acquaintance, for—­ahem!—­the matter is quite a delicate one.”

Phil regarded him with increased interest.

“I am flattered by your selecting me,” said he.  “I will keep your secret.”

“Phil,” said Mr. Wilbur, in a tragic tone, “you may be surprised to hear that I am in love!”

Phil started and wanted to laugh, but Mr. Wilbur’s serious, earnest look restrained him.

“Ain’t you rather young?” he ventured to say.

“No; I am nineteen,” answered Mr. Wilbur.

“The heart makes no account of years.”

Whether this was original or borrowed, Phil could not tell.

“Have you been in love long?” asked Phil.

“Three weeks.”

“Does the lady know it?”

“Not yet,” returned Mr. Wilbur.  “I have worshiped her from afar.  I have never even spoken to her.”

“Then the matter hasn’t gone very far?”

“No, not yet.”

“Where did you meet her first?”

“In a Broadway stage.”

“What is her name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know much about her, then?”

“Yes; I know where she lives.”

“Where?”

“On Lexington Avenue.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Between Twenty-ninth and Thirtieth Streets.  Would you like to see her house?”

“Yes,” answered Phil, who saw that Mr. Wilbur wished him so to answer.

“Then come out.  We might see her.”

The two boys—­for Mr. Wilbur, though he considered himself a young man of large experience, was really scarcely more than a boy—­bent their steps to Lexington Avenue, and walked in a northerly direction.

They had reached Twenty-eighth Street, when the door of house farther up on the avenue was opened and a lady came out.