When Robert arrived in Boston he was at first bewildered by the noise and bustle to which, in the quiet fishing village, he was quite unaccustomed. All that he knew about the city was the names of the principal streets.

It was not necessary, however, that he should go in any particular direction. He decided, therefore, to walk along, keeping a good lookout, and, when he saw a clothing store, to go in and provide a new outfit.

He was sensible that he was by no means dressed in city style. His clothes were coarse, and being cut and made by his aunt—who, though an excellent woman, was by no means an excellent tailor—looked countrified and outlandish.

The first hint Robert had of this was when two well-dressed boys, meeting him, simultaneously burst out laughing.

Robert was sensitive, but he was by no means bashful or timid.
Accordingly he stepped up to the boys and demanded with kindling eyes:

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Oh, no, of course not," answered one of the boys, rolling his tongue in his cheek.

"Certainly not, my dear fellow," said the other, winking.

"I think you were," said Robert firmly. "Do you see anything to laugh at in me?"

"Well, to tell the truth," said the first boy, "we were wondering whether you import your clothes from Paris or London."

"Oh, that's it," said Robert good-humoredly, for he was aware that his clothes were of strange cut. "My clothes were made in the country and I don't think much of them myself. If you'd tell me where I can get some better ones I will buy a suit."

The boys were not bad-hearted and were won over by Robert's good humor.

"You're a good fellow," said the first speaker, "and I am sorry I was rude enough to laugh at you. There is a store where I think you can find what you want."

He pointed to a clothing store. In front of which was a good display of ready-made clothing.

"Thank you," said Robert.

He entered and the boys walked on.

If Robert had been better dressed he would have received immediate attention. As it was, he looked like a poor boy in want of work and not at all like a customer.

So, at all events, decided a dapper-looking clerk whose attention was drawn to the new arrival.

"Well, boy, what do you want?" he demanded roughly, approaching Robert.

"Civil treatment to begin with," answered Robert with spirit.

"If you've come for a place, we don't want any scarecrows here."

It appears that the firm had advertised for an errand boy that very morning, and it was naturally supposed that Robert was an applicant.

"Are you the owner of this shop?" asked Robert coolly.

"No," answered the clerk, lowering his tone a little.

"I thought so. I'll tell my business to somebody else."

"You'd better not put on airs!" said the clerk angrily.

"You are the one who is putting on airs," retorted Robert.

"What's the matter here?" asked a portly gentleman, walking up to the scene of the altercation.

"I was telling this boy that he would not do for the place," answered the clerk.

"I believe, Mr. Turner, that you are not commissioned to make a selection," said the gentleman.

And Turner retired, discomfited.

"So you want a place?" he said inquiringly to Robert.

"No, sir, I don't."

"Mr. Turner said you did."

"I never told him so."

"Here, Turner," said the gentleman. "Why did you tell me this boy wanted a place?"

"I supposed he did. He looked like it, sir."

"I don't want a place. I want to buy a suit of clothes," said Robert. "If that young man hadn't treated me so rudely, I should have asked him to show me some."

"Look here, Mr. Turner," said the gentleman sternly, "If you have no more sense than to insult our customers, we can dispense with your services. Mr. Conway, will you wait on this young man?"

Turner was mortified and slunk away, beginning to understand that it is not always safe to judge a man or boy by the clothes he wears.

Mr. Conway was more of a gentleman and civilly asked Robert to follow him.

"What kind of a suit would you like?" he added.

"A pretty good one," answered Robert.

He was shown several suits and finally selected one of gray mixed cloth of excellent quality.

"That is one of our most expensive suits," said Conway doubtfully.

"Will it wear well?"

"It will wear like iron."

"Then I will take it. How much will it cost?"

Conway named the price. Robert would have hesitated about paying so much, but that he was acting under instructions from the hermit.

"Shall we send it to you anywhere?" asked Mr. Conway, a little surprised at Robert's readiness to pay so high a price.

"No, I should like to put it on here."

"You can do so—that is, after paying for it."

Robert drew out a wallet and from his roll of bills took out sufficient to pay for the new suit.

Mr. Conway went to the cashier's desk. The two had a conversation together. Then the stout gentleman was called to the desk. Robert saw them open a copy of a morning paper and read a paragraph, looking at him after reading it. He wondered what it all meant.

Presently Conway came back and asked him to walk up to the desk.

Robert did so, wonderingly.

"You seem to have a good deal of money with you," commenced the stout gentleman.

"Yes, sir," answered Robert composedly.

"A great deal of money for a boy dressed as you are," continued the speaker pointedly.

Robert began to understand now, and he replied proudly:

"Do you generally ask your customers how much money they have?"

"No, but yours is a peculiar case."

"The money is mine—that is, I have a right to spend it. I am acting under orders from the gentleman who employs me."

"Who is that?"

"No one that you would know. He lives at Cook's Harbor. But I didn't come in here to answer questions. If you don't want to sell me a suit of clothes, I will go somewhere else."

"To be plain with you, my boy," said the stout gentleman, not unkindly, "we are afraid that you have no right to this money. The Herald of this morning gives an account of a boy who has run away from a town in New Hampshire with three hundred dollars belonging to a farmer. You appear to be the age mentioned."

"I never stole a dollar in my life," said Robert indignantly.

"It may be so, but I feel it a duty to put you in charge of the police, who will investigate the matter. James, call an officer."

Robert realized that he was in an unpleasant situation. It would be hard to prove that the money in his hands was really at his disposal.

Help came from an unexpected quarter.

A young man, fashionably dressed, had listened to the conversation of which Robert was the subject.

He came forward promptly, saying:

"There is no occasion to suspect this boy. He is all right."

"Do you know him?" asked the proprietor politely.

"Yes, I know him well. He is in the employ of a gentleman at Cook's
Harbor, as he says. You can safely sell him the clothes."

The young man spoke so positively that all suspicion was removed.

"I am glad to learn that it is all right," said the clothing merchant. "My young friend, I am sorry to have suspected you. We shall be glad to sell you the suit, and to recompense you for the brief inconvenience we will take off two dollars from the price."

"Thank you, sir."

"It would not do for us to receive stolen money, hence our caution."

Robert did not bear malice, and he accepted the apology and dressed himself in the suit referred to, which very much changed his appearance for the better.

In fact, but for his hat and shoes, he looked like a city boy of a well-to-do family.

He felt fortunate in getting off so well, but he was puzzled to understand where he could have met the young man who professed to know him so well.

He left the store, but almost immediately was tapped on the shoulder by the young man in question.

"I got you off well, didn't I?" said the young man with a wink.

"I am much obliged to you, sir," said Robert.

"You don't seem to remember me," continued the young man, winking again.

"No, sir."

"Good reason why. I never saw you in my life before nor you me."

"But I thought you said you had met me at Cook's Harbor?" said Robert in surprise.

The young man laughed.

"Only way to get you off. You'd have been marched off by a policeman if
I hadn't."

This seemed rather irregular to our hero. Still he knew that he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and as the young man appeared to have acted from friendly motives he thanked him again.

"That's all very well," said the young man, "but, considering the scrape I've saved you from, I think you ought to give me at least twenty-five dollars."

"But the money isn't mine," said Robert, opening his eyes, for he could hardly have expected an application for money from a young man so fashionably dressed.

"Of course it isn't," said the young man, winking again. "It belongs to the man you took it from. I'm fairly entitled to a part. So just give me twenty-five and we'll call it square."

"If you mean that I stole the money, you're quite mistaken," said Robert indignantly. "It belongs to my employer."

"Just what I thought," said the other.

"But I have a right to spend it. I am doing just as he told me to do."

"Come, young fellow, that won't go down! It's too thin!" said the young man, his countenance changing. "You don't take me in so easily. Just hand over twenty-five dollars or I'll hand you over to the police! There's one coming!"

Robert certainly did not care to have the threat executed, but he did not choose to yield.

"If you do," he said, "I'll tell him that you did it because I would not give you twenty-five dollars."

This did not strike his new acquaintance as desirable, since it would be, in effect, charging him with blackmail. Moreover, he could bring nothing tangible against our young hero. He changed his tone therefore.

"I don't want to harm you," he said, "but I deserve something for getting you out of a scrape. You might spare me five dollars."

"I got my suit two dollars cheaper through what you said," said Robert.
"I'll give you that sum."

"Well, that will do," said the other, finding the country boy more unmanageable than he expected. "I ought to have more, but I will call it square on that."

Robert drew a two-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the stranger.

"That I can give," he said, "because it was part of the price of my suit."

"All right. Good morning!" said the young man, and, thrusting the bill into his vest pocket, he walked carelessly away.

Robert looked after him with a puzzled glance.

"I shouldn't think a young man dressed like that could be in want of money," he reflected. "I am afraid he told a lie on my account, but I thought at the time he had really seen me, even if I couldn't remember him."

Soon Robert came to a hat store, where he exchanged his battered old hat for one of fashionable shape, and a little later his cowhide shoes for a pair of neat calfskin. He surveyed himself now with natural satisfaction, for he was as well dressed as his friend Herbert Irving.

He had by this time reached Washington Street and had just passed Milk Street when he met George Randolph, who looked as consequential and conceited as ever.

"Good morning, George," said Robert.

George looked at him doubtfully.

How could he suppose that the boy before him, dressed as well as himself, was the poor fisher boy of Cook's Harbor?

"I don't seem to remember you," said George civilly.

Robert smiled.

"You met me at Cook's Harbor," he explained. "I am Robert Coverdale."

"What! not the young fisherman?" ejaculated George incredulously.

"The same."

"You haven't come into a fortune, have you? What brings you here?" demanded the city boy in great amazement.

"I am in the city on business. No, I haven't come into a fortune, but I am better off than I was. Can you recommend me a good hotel?"

"I don't know about the cheap hotels."

"I don't care for a cheap hotel. I want a good one."

More and more surprised, George said:

"You might go to Young's."

"I will go there. Thank you for telling me."

"I don't understand how a boy like you can afford to go to such a hotel as that," said George, looking very much puzzled.

"No, I suppose not," returned Robert, smiling.

"If you don't mind telling me——"

"I am sorry I can't, but my errand is a secret one.

"Did my uncle send you?"

"No, neither he nor Herbert knows of my coming. I didn't have time to see Herbert before I came away."

"Are you going to stay long in Boston?"

"No, I think not. I am going to New York or Albany."

"It seems queer to me."

"Very likely. Good-by! Thank you for directing me."

George had been remarkably civil, but in a boy like him that is easily explained. He was civil, not to Robert, but to his new suit and his new prosperity.

"It's the strangest thing I ever heard of," he muttered as he walked away. "Why, the young fisherman is dressed as well as I am!"