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The landlord of the tavern at which our hero had housed himself was a stout, burly man, and quite communicative. From him Edward learned much of importance. Mr. Blinge was his name. He was an inveterate smoker, and his pet was a little black pipe, dingy and old, and by not a few deemed a nuisance to “The Bull’s Horn.” This he held between his teeth, and, seating himself behind his bar, puffed away on the high-pressure principle.

Edward had not been many minutes in his room before Mr. Blinge entered with his pet in his mouth, hoped he did n’t intrude, apologized, and wished him to walk below, saying that by so doing he might become acquainted with some “rare souls.”

By “below” was meant a large, square room, on the ground floor, of dimensions ample enough to hold a caucus in. By some it was called a “bar-room,” by others the “sitting-room,” and others the “gentlemen’s parlor.”

Entering, Edward encountered the gaze of about twenty individuals. Old gentlemen with specs looked beneath them, and young gentlemen with papers looked above them. A young man in white jacket and green apron was endeavoring to satisfy the craving appetites of two teamsters, who were loudly praising the landlord’s brandy, and cursing the bad state of the roads in a manner worthy of “our army in Flanders.”

One young man, in particular, attracted the attention of our hero. He was genteelly dressed, and possessed an air of dignity and self-command, that would obtain for him at once the good will of any. Edward was half inclined to believe his circumstances to be somewhat similar to his own. He was reading an evening paper, but, on seeing our hero enter, and judging from his manner that he was a stranger, laid it aside, and, politely addressing himself to him, inquired after his health.

The introduction over, they engaged in conversation. The young man seemed pleased in making his acquaintance, and expressed a hope that a friendship so suddenly formed might prove lasting and beneficial to each.

“I also am from the country,” said he, after Edward had informed him of his history, “and, like you, am in search of employment. Looking over the evening paper, I noticed an advertisement of a concern for sale, which I thought, as I read, would be a capital chance to make a fortune, if I could find some one to invest in it with me. I will read it to you.

For SALE.-The stock and stand of a Confectioner, with a good business, well established. One or two young men will find this a rare opportunity to invest their money advantageously. For other particulars inquire at No. 7 Cresto-st.

“Now, I tell you what,” said the young man, before Edward had an opportunity to utter a word, “it is a fine chance. Why, Lagrange makes enough on his wines and fancy cordials to clothe and feed a regiment. Just pass there, some evening, and you will see a perfect rush. Soda-water, ice creams, and French wines, are all the rage, and Lagrange is the only man in this city that can suit the bon ton!”

“You half induce me to go there,” said Edward. “How far is it from this place?”

“Not far, but it is too late; to-morrow morning we will go there. Here, take my card-Othro Treves is my name; you must have known my father; a member of Congress for ten years, when he died;–rather abused his health-attended parties at the capital-drank wine to excess,–took a severe cold-fell ill one day, worse the next, sick the next, and died soon after. Wine is bad when excessively indulged in; so is every good thing.”

Edward smiled at this running account of his new-formed acquaintance, and, bidding him “good-night,” betook himself to his chamber, intending to accompany Othro to the confectioner’s in the morning.

CHAPTER III.

The next morning the sun shone bright and clear in a cloudless sky, and all were made joyous by its gladsome rays.