Harry stepped on board the train without seeing any one whom he knew, and took a seat on the right-hand side. Just in front of him was an elderly farmer, with a face well browned by exposure to the sun and wind. He had a kindly face, and looked sociable. It was not long before he addressed our young hero.
"Going to New York?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Are you acquainted there?"
"No, sir; not much."
"Nor I. I was thinking you might be able to direct me to a place where I could get money for some cowpons."
"Government coupons?" inquired Harry, becoming interested.
"Yes. You see, my wife's uncle died not long ago, and left Sarah a government bond of a thousand dollars, drawing six per cent interest. There's thirty dollars due the first of this month, and I told Sarah that I'd go and collect it for her."
"I've got some business of that same kind," said Harry. "I was told there were brokers' offices in Wall Street, where I could collect the money without any trouble."
"I'll go with you," said the farmer, in a tone of satisfaction. "If he'll buy yours, he'll buy mine."
"I shall be glad to have your company," said Harry, politely.
It flattered his vanity that a man old enough to be his grandfather was disposed to be guided by him in a matter of such importance.
Just then a smooth voice was heard from the seat behind.
"Gentlemen," said a young man, showily dressed and with a profusion of rings on his fingers, "excuse my interrupting you, but I may be able to save you some trouble."
They naturally waited for an explanation of these words.
"I overheard you saying that you had some coupons to dispose of."
"Yes," replied the farmer, eagerly.
"I am myself a banker and broker, and deal in government securities. If the amount is not too large, I will buy your coupons and pay for them at once."
"That will be handy," said the farmer. "I've got thirty dollars in cowpons."
"And you, my young friend?" said the so-called broker, addressing Harry.
"I have rather more than that," said Harry, in a reserved tone.
Somehow, he was suspicious of the plausible stranger.
"I will pay you a higher price than most houses, besides saving you all the trouble," said the broker, insinuatingly, as he drew out a capacious wallet, and, opening it, exhibited a pile of bills.
The farmer immediately drew out his coupon.
"Let me see," said the broker; "thirty dollars, gold at the present premium comes to thirty-six dollars."
"Thirty-six dollars!" repeated the farmer, complacently. "Sarah'll feel rich when she gets that money."
"Here's your money," said the broker, producing three ten-dollar bills, a five and a one. "The bills are new, you perceive."
The farmer put away the bills in his old wallet, and the stranger slipped the coupon carelessly into his vest pocket.
"Now, my young friend, I am ready to attend to your matter," he said, turning to Harry.
"I won't trouble you," said Harry, coldly; "I prefer to dispose of the coupons in the city."
"Just as you like; but you would do better to deal with me."
"Why?" asked Harry.
"In the city they will allow you but a hundred and nineteen for gold."
"How is it you can afford to do better by me?" asked Harry, shrewdly.
"Our house makes a point of dealing liberally with their customers," said the broker.
"What is the name of your firm?"
"Chase & Atkins," answered the other glibly. "I am a relative of Salmon Chase, ex-secretary of the treasury, and, since, chief justice of the Supreme Court."
"You don't say!" ejaculated the farmer. "Salmon Chase is a great man."
"So he is. Thank you, sir, for your appreciation of my distinguished relative. Of course, it doesn't make me any better to be related to that great man, but I am naturally proud of it."
"Hadn't you better sell your coupons to him?" asked the farmer, who was quite prepossessed in favor of the gentlemanly stranger.
"No, sir; I was instructed to sell in Wall Street, and I prefer to do so."
"Oh, just as you please," said Mr. Chase. "You will lose by it, but that's your affair. Good-morning, gentlemen. I have a friend in the next car."
So saying, he bowed, and left the car.
"Well, my business was easily done," said the farmer.
"Will you allow me to look at the bills he gave you?" asked Harry.
"Sartain! Why?" and the farmer drew out his wallet.
Harry took one of the bills in his hand and examined it carefully, but he was not an expert, and could not judge whether it was good or not.
"Don't you think it's good?" asked the farmer, uneasily.
"I presume it is; but I didn't like the looks of the man you had dealings with."
"He is of good family," said the farmer.
"He says he is," responded Harry, significantly, "and I hope it's all right. We'll wait till the conductor comes along, and ask him about the bills."
Fifteen minutes elapsed, however, before that official made his rounds, and during that time the train stopped at two stations. At one of these Harry's suspicions were increased by seeing that Mr. Chase got out.
At last the conductor appeared, and Harry passed him the bill.
"Is that bill good?" he asked.
The conductor held it up to the light, and shook his head.
"No," he said; "it's one of a quantity of counterfeits that has lately made its appearance. Where did you get it?"
"It belongs to me," said the farmer, his honest countenance exhibiting much distress. "I took it in payment for some cowpons."
"Who gave it to you?"
An explanation was given.
"I noticed the man," said the conductor. "He is a well-known swindler. Have you got any more?"
The others were exhibited. Out of them all the conductor declared that only the one-dollar bill was genuine.
Probably it had not been thought worth while to counterfeit a bill of so low a denomination.
"Oh, what'll Sarah say?" ejaculated the distressed farmer. "What a tarnal fool I've been! She wanted me to buy her a nice dress out of it, and I've only got a dollar left!"
"Perhaps the man may be caught," suggested Harry.
"I don't believe it. Simon Jones, you ain't fit to go around alone. You're as green as--as--a gooseberry!"
Harry pitied him, but was unable to offer any adequate consolation.
"Will you give me your name and address?" he said. "And, if I can hear anything of your coupons, or the man that swindled you, I'll write and let you know."
"Will you? I'm obleeged to you," said the farmer, who had formed quite a high idea of our hero's sagacity from his declining the trap into which he himself had fallen. "My name is Simon Jones, of Crabtree Hollow, Connecticut."
Harry entered it in a little memorandum book which he carried.
At length the great city was reached, and the crowd of passengers dispersed in different directions.
It was over a year since Harry had been in the city, and he was not very familiar with it, but he had a modest confidence in his ability to get along.
"Shine yer boots, guv'nor?" asked a ragged bootblack.
"How much?" Harry asked. "Seein' it's you, I'll only ask ten cents," returned the street boy.
"Thank you. I blacked my own boots before I left home."
"Do you call that a shine?" said the boy, contemptuously, as his glance rested on Harry's shoes, which certainly did not vie in polish with those operated upon by city bootblacks.
"It'll do for me," answered Harry, good-naturedly.
"Mornin' papers--_Herald, Times, Tribune, World!"_ called a newsboy.
"Give me a _Herald,"_ said Harry, who suddenly bethought himself of the tin box, and was anxious to find out whether any allusion was made to the theft in the morning papers.
He opened the paper, and his eyes ran hastily over the crowded columns.
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