“I feel honored by the introduction,” said Atwood, bowing profoundly.

“I hope you are not a friend of Mr.—­ah, Mr. Stuyvesant,” said the nobleman, “the person I was talking with this morning.  Mr. Crawford tells me he is a—­what do you call it?—­a confidence man.”

“I have no acquaintance with him, my lord.  I saw him just now leaving the hotel.”

“I am afraid he has gone away with my valise and money,” said Carl.

“If you should be inconvenienced, Mr. Crawford,” said the nobleman, “my purse is at your disposal.”

“Thank you very much, Lord Bedford,” said Carl, gratefully.  “I am glad to say I am still fairly well provided with money.”

“I was about to make you the same offer, Mr. Crawford,” said Atwood.

“Thank you!  I appreciate your kindness, even if I’m not obliged to avail myself of it.”

Returning to the hotel, Lord Bedford ordered a carriage, and invited Atwood and Carl to accompany him on a drive.  Mr. Atwood was in an ecstasy, and anticipated with proud satisfaction telling his family of his intimate friend, Lord Bedford, of England.  The peer, though rather an ordinary-looking man, seemed to him a model of aristocratic beauty.  It was a weakness on the part of Mr. Atwood, but an amiable one, and is shared by many who live under republican institutions.

After dinner Carl felt obliged to resume his journey.  He had found his visit to Niagara very agreeable, but his was a business and not a pleasure trip, and loyalty to his employer required him to cut it short.  Lord Bedford shook his hand heartily at parting.

“I hope we shall meet again, Mr. Crawford,” he said.  “I expect, myself, to reach Chicago on Saturday, and shall be glad to have you call on me at the Palmer House.”

“Thank you, my lord; I will certainly inquire for you there.”

“He is a very good fellow, even if he is a lord,” thought Carl.

Our young hero was a thorough American, and was disposed to think with Robert Burns, that

    “The rank is but the guinea, stamp;
    The man’s the gold for a’ that!”

No incident worth recording befell Carl on his trip to Chicago.  As a salesman he met with excellent success, and surprised Mr. Jennings by the size of his orders.  He was led, on reaching Chicago, to register at the Sherman House, on Clark Street, one of the most reliable among the many houses for travelers offered by the great Western metropolis.

On the second day he made it a point to find out the store of John French, hoping to acquire the information desired by Miss Norris.

It was a store of good size, and apparently well stocked.  Feeling the need of new footgear, Carl entered and asked to be shown some shoes.  He was waited upon by a young clerk named Gray, with whom he struck up a pleasant acquaintance.

“Do you live in Chicago?” asked Gray? sociably.

“No; I am from New York State.  I am here on business.”