"But I am afraid, Mr. Woods, I shall not be able to return the
compliment."

"There is no occasion for it. I feel in good humor this morning. I have
sold one lot, and have hopes of disposing of another. The one lot pays
me a commission of twenty dollars."

"I wish I could make twenty dollars in a week."

"Sometimes I only sell one lot in a week. It isn't like a regular
business. It is precarious. Still, take the year through and I make a
pretty good income. Come in here. We can get a good lunch here," and he
led the way into a modest restaurant, not far from the site of the old
post office, which will be remembered by those whose residence in New
York dates back twenty years or more.

"Now we will have a nice lunch," said the agent. "I hope you can do
justice to it."

"I generally can," responded Rodney, smiling. "I am seldom troubled with
a poor appetite."

"Ditto for me. Now what have you been doing this morning?"

"Looking for a place."

"With what success?"

"Pretty good if I had only been earlier."