"Yes, it is even so. That was Mr. Bradford, the New York printer,
father of Andrew Bradford, the printer of your town; and not his
apparition."

"How in the world did he happen to come here with you?"

"I can tell you in a few words," replied Benjamin. "I called on him
for work in New York, and he directed me to his son here, who had just
lost a good hand by death. Very unexpectedly, on the next day, he
started for Philadelphia on horseback, and, when I called upon his
son, this morning, I found him there. His son had just hired a man;
and so he directed me to you, and his father offered to come and
introduce me."

"Well, all that is natural enough, but it is pretty hard on me,"
answered Keimer. "If I had known that was Bradford's father, I should
have kept my mouth shut, of course."

"You opened it pretty wide to him, and he took advantage of it, as
most men will do. But I guess no harm is done. He and his son both
appear to be friendly to you; they would not have proposed that I
should come here for work, if they had not been."

"That looks so, I must confess," said Keimer; "but I have learned one
good lesson from it: never to divulge secrets to a stranger. When I do
that again I shall not be in my right mind. But I wanted to ask you
about your Boston experience in a printing office; what office was you
in?"