Mile after mile they sped on the way, and Phil looked from the window
with interest at the towns through which they passed. There are very few
boys of his age--sixteen--who do not like to travel in the cars. Limited
as were his means, and uncertain as were his prospects, Phil felt not
only cheerful, but actually buoyant, as every minute took him farther
away from Planktown, and so nearer the city where he hoped to make a
living at the outset, and perhaps his fortune in the end.

Presently--perhaps half way on--a young man, rather stylishly dressed,
came into the car. It was not at a station, and therefore it seemed
clear that he came from another car.

He halted when he reached the seat which Phil occupied.

Our hero, observing that his glance rested on his valise, politely
removed it, saying:

"Would you like to sit down here, sir?"

"Yes, thank you," answered the young man, and sank into the seat beside
Phil.

"Sorry to inconvenience you," he said, with a glance at the bag.

"Oh, not at all," returned Phil. "I only put the valise on the seat till
it was wanted by some passenger."

"You are more considerate than some passengers," observed the young man.
"In the next car is a woman, an elderly party, who is taking up three
extra seats to accommodate her bags and boxes."