"But, father," said Netty, a little tremulously, "I wouldn't let my
houses to such people. It's not right; is it? Why, it's horrid to think
of men getting drunk, and killing each other!"

Dr. Renton rubbed his hair into disorder, with vexation, and then
subsided into solemnity.

"I know it's not exactly right, Netty; but I can't help it. As I said
before, I wish the Devil had that barkeeper. I ought to have ordered
him out long ago, and then this wouldn't have happened. I've increased
his rent twice, hoping to get rid of him so; but he pays without a
murmur; and what am I to do? You see, he was an occupant when the
building came into my hands, and I let him stay. He pays me a good,
round rent; and, apart from his cursed traffic, he's a good tenant.
What can I do? It's a good thing for him, and it's a good thing for
me, pecuniarily. Confound him! Here's a nice rumpus brewing!"

"Dear pa, I'm afraid it's not a good thing for you," said Netty,
caressing him and smoothing his tumbled hair. "Nor for him either. I
wouldn't mind the rent he pays you. I'd order him out. It's bad money.
There's blood on it."

She had grown pale, and her voice quivered. The phantom glided over
to them, and laid its spectral hand upon her forehead. The shadowy eyes
looked from under the misty hair into the doctor's face, and the pale
lips moved as if speaking the words heard only in the silence of his
heart,--"Hear her, hear her!"

"I must think of it," resumed Dr. Renton, coldly. "I'm resolved, at