Bernard found the Arundel Hotel, to which he had been directed, neat and quiet. It was more like a large boarding-house than a hotel. The terms were very reasonable, and that with him was an important consideration.

There were several Americans among the guests, including two ministers and a schoolma’am of uncertain age, who was taking a well-earned rest after fifteen years of service in the public schools of Massachusetts.

It was next to her that Bernard had a seat at the table. Being, from her profession, attracted by young people, she was led to feel an interest in the bright and attractive boy with whom the exigencies of hotel life had brought her in contact.

“You are an American boy, I take it?” she said.

“Yes, miss.”

“Miss Smith,” she suggested, smiling. “It is a little more convenient to know the name of the person to whom you are speaking.”

“Miss Smith, then. My name is Bernard Brooks.”

“Ah, indeed! I think there is a Brooks family in Somerville, Massachusetts, where I am teaching. Are they related to you?”

“I don’t think so. I come from New York State.”

“Here we are all Americans. Have you arrived’ lately?”

“Only two days since.”

“And it is your first visit to England?”

“Yes.”

“Do you intend to visit the continent?”

“I should like to.”

“But that probably depends upon your traveling companions.”

“I have no traveling companions.”

“Did you come to England alone?” asked Miss Smith, in some surprise.

“No. I was in the company of Professor Puffer.”

“Indeed! I never heard of the gentleman. Is he a professor of Harvard?”

“I don’t think he is connected with any college. I am told that he is interested in antiquities, and has written upon the subject.”

“I should like to meet him,” said the schoolmistress.

“Perhaps you will introduce me.”

“I am afraid I cannot. The professor and I have parted.”

“Why, if it isn’t taking too great a liberty to ask?”

“I didn’t like him. He didn’t treat me well. Once, in a fit of sleep-walking, he tried to throw me into the sea.”

“That seems strange. Certainly you were justified in leaving him. Where is he now?”

“I left him in Liverpool.”

“But didn’t he have charge of you?”

“Yes; but I think I can take better care of myself.”

“You may think me intrusive, but I am old enough to be your mother; that is, almost,” she added cautiously. “Didn’t he have charge of money for your expenses?”

“I was engaged to assist him as his private secretary. I was to have twenty-five dollars a month and my expenses paid.”

“That was very good pay. I see that you are in a difficult position. Do you really think it would be unsafe for you to stay with him?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Then, of course, that settles it. Have you taken the advice of any older person?”

“I took the advice of Mr. Nelson Sturgis, from Boston.”

“That is a very good Boston name. Is Mr. Sturgis in this hotel?”

“No; he went to the Charing Cross.”

“If you don’t think me impertinent, how do you expect to defray your expenses? Is there any one in America who will provide you with the necessary fund?”

“No. There is a man in New York who calls himself my guardian, but he certainly is not my friend. He put me in charge of this Professor Puffer, and from a letter I picked up I find he wants to get rid of me.”

“But how will you live?”

“I shall try to get something to do, Miss Smith.”

“That will be hard in a city like London, where you are a stranger.”

“I have no doubt of that, but there is no other course open to me.”

“If you were in America you would stand a better chance. I wish I could think of any way of helping you. I have a nephew about your age, and I can’t help thinking what if he were in your position. Shall you stay long at this hotel?”

“I shall have money enough to stay a week or two.”

“And I shall be here about a week. I must think for you.”

“I wish you would,” said Bernard gratefully. “It seems pleasant to have some one interested in you.”

“Won’t this Mr. Sturgis do something for you?”

“He has already. It is he who paid my expenses from Liverpool. He seems a very nice gentleman, and I am sure he is friendly to me.”

“You had better look over the daily papers, and if you see any place advertised which you think you can fill, apply for it.”

“Thank you. I will take your advice.”

During the afternoon Bernard walked through the Strand and Fleet Street. He found plenty to attract his attention. Though the signs were English he found a great difference between English and American shops. Near the Bank of England he met Nelson Sturgis.

“Glad to meet you, Bernard,” said the Boston drummer. “I have some news for you.”

“What is it, Mr. Sturgis?”

“Your friend, the professor, has called upon me at the Charing Cross.”

Bernard was startled.

“How do you think he guessed we were there?”

“In the easiest way in the world. He found the cabby who had driven us to the hotel.”

“Was he looking for me?”

“Yes. When he saw me his face brightened. He demanded you, thinking that you were somewhere in the hotel.”

“It is lucky I didn’t stay there. Is he there now?”

“No; finding that he was mistaken, he went away disappointed.”

“Suppose we meet him in the street?”

“Bluff him. Refuse to go with him. He would have to prove a right to control you, and that would be difficult. How do you like your hotel?”

“Very much. It is comfortable and cheap.”

“Have you made any acquaintances?”

“Yes; a schoolma’am from Massachusetts.”

“Is she young and pretty?” asked Mr. Sturgis with a smile.

“No; she is plain, and, as to age, I think she must be near forty. She might do for you,” suggested Bernard with a roguish look.

“Thank you. Your description doesn’t seem attractive.”

“She is a very nice lady, however, and has given me some good advice about getting a position.”

“I am glad of that. I wish I could do something for you, but my stay in London is very limited.”

“I am sorry for that. I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.”

“And unfortunately I go to-morrow.”

“Where?”

“To some of the manufacturing districts. You know my trip is a business one. How are you off for money?”

“I can get along for the present, and I hope before long to get a place.”

“I hope so, but I fear your being an American will interfere with you. The English have an idea that American boys have too much license, and they would hesitate to take one into their employment.”

“It seems queer to see boys even younger than I am with silk hats on.”

“Yes; but it is the English style. You can’t pass for an English boy—of the better class—without following their example.”

“I wouldn’t do that. They look like guys. Just let one of them appear in New York rigged out in that way. Why, the other boys would mob him.”

“That is true. Still I don’t know, but it is well when you are in Rome to do as the Romans do.”

“Does that mean that you recommend me to put on one of those tiles?”

“Well, not at present,” said Mr. Sturgis. “If it would procure you a position I should advise you to do so.”

Presently the two separated, and Bernard strolled on alone, his companion having a business call to make near the bank.

“Have a shine?”

The boy who asked the question was a typical London street urchin, with ragged clothes, and face and hands bearing evidence of his occupation.

Bernard looked at his shoes. They certainly stood in need of polishing, but he knew that his means were small and daily diminishing, and was cautious enough to ask the price.

“A penny,” answered the street boy.

Bernard signed to the boy to begin.

The boy understood his business, and went to work like an expert.

“Do you earn much?” asked Bernard.

“That’s as it happens. When I’m lucky I make one and eight pence or two shillin’s. Yesterday a gent—he was an American—give me sixpence for a shine. Americans are rich.”

“Not all of them. I am an American.”

“Have you got a bowie knife?”

“No,” answered Bernard, with a laugh. “What makes you ask?”

“I was readin’ a story in a paper that said all the American boys carried bowie knives.”

“That’s a mistake.”

Bernard was feeling for a penny to pay the young bootblack when he heard a snort of triumph, and looking up, he saw Professor Puffer bearing down upon him.