in the next room. I'll see you later," and he departed.

It was five of the clock. The Strand was choked. Here and there I saw
the color of martial attire. Save for this, and that the buildings
were low and solid, and that most of the people walked slower, I might
have been looking down upon Broadway for all the change of place I saw.
There is not much difference between New York and London, except in the
matter of locomotion. The American gets around with more rapidity than
does his English cousin, but in the long run he accomplishes no more.
It is only when one steps onto the Continent that the real difference
in the human races is discerned. Strange as this may seem, it is not
distinguishable in a cosmopolitan city. My eyes were greeted with the
same huge wearisome signs of the merchants; the same sad-eyed "sandwich
men;" the same newsboys yelling and scampering back and forth; the same
rumble of the omnibuses, the roar of the drays, and the rattle of the
cabs. I was not much interested in all I saw. Suddenly my roving eyes
rested upon a familiar face. It was Hillars, and he was pushing
rapidly across the street. Any one would have instantly marked him for
an American by the nervous stride, the impatience at being obstructed.
I went into the fire-room, intending to give him a little surprise. I
did not have long to wait. The door to the main office opened and he
came in, singing a snatch from a drinking song we used to sing at
college. The rich baritone that had once made the old glee club famous
was a bit husky and throaty. I heard him unlock his desk and roll back
the lid. There was a quiet for a moment.

"Dick!" he called. "Hi, Dick! Well, I'm hanged!"

Evidently he had discovered my cable.