son your story would find
no favor with him. I doubt whether he ever read a novel in his life. If
you should take all the public officers in St. Louis to Chicago with
you, and let them swear in court that you were the long-lost son of
Edward and Louise Farringford, he would not believe them. He may be
convinced, but not by anything you can say or do."

"Nevertheless, father, I wish to go to Chicago. I have seen but little
of the world, and I have heard a great deal about that city."

"I have no objection to your going to Chicago--not the least; but I
hope you will not flatter yourself that you can produce an impression
upon the mind of Mr. Collingsby, or his son Richard, who is as near
like his father as one pea is like another pea. I should even like to
have you travel for two or three months. It would do you good. You
might go east--to New York and Philadelphia."

"I don't care about going farther than Chicago."

"Go, by all means; but don't get into a quarrel with your grandfather."

"I'm not quarrelsome, father."

"But Mr. Collingsby would be if you went to him with your story, though
every word of it is true."

And so it was settled that I should go to Chicago. I intended at least
to find out who and what my grandfather was. I wanted to see him with
my own eyes, though he was evidently what is regarded as "a hard
customer." The fact that he was so afforded me a new sensation, and I
began to glow with an unwonted excitement. It was my mission to see and
convince Mr. Collingsby that I was his grandson, unless he should be
able to prove that I was not so; and one cannot reasonably be required
to prove a negative. It was a problem, a difficulty; and I felt, as I
had in the field and forest, a new life and vigor when there was a real
obstacle to be overcome.

My father was certainly very considerate towards me, and was willing to
trust me anywhere that I pleased to go. I had not many preparations to
make; a small valise held my wardrobe, and on Monday morning I crossed
the river and took the train for Chicago. A journey of two hundred and
eighty miles, accomplished in about twelve hours, was not a very great
event, even a dozen years ago; but somehow, I do not know why, I felt
as though I was setting out in a new career of existence. I expected to
return in a week, or in two weeks, at the most; yet, in spite of my
exertion to make myself believe that the trip was quite a commonplace
affair, it continued to thru