hotel, where the porter took him in charge under contract to put him to
bed. The consideration for the latter attention was a quarter paid in
hand to the porter; with the proprietor Richard left ten dollars, and
orders to give the devious one the change in the morning after deducting
for his entertainment.

The rescued printer, clothed and in his right mind, called upon Richard
the next afternoon to thank him for his generosity and say that his name
was Sands. Mr. Sands, being sober and shaven, with clothes brushed, was
in no sense a spectacle of shame. Indeed, there were worse-looking
people passing laws for the nation. Richard was pleased, and said so.

"If I had a job, I'd go to work," said Mr. Sands, having had, as he
expressed it, "his drunk out."

The habit of charity grows upon one like the liquor habit; moreover, if
once you help a man, you ever after feel compelled to help him to the
end of time. Richard was no exception to these philanthropic laws, and
when Mr. Sands declared an eagerness to go to work, brought him to
Senator Hanway, who promptly berthed him upon the Government printing
office, where he was given a "case," and commenced tossing up types
after the manner of a master.

If Senator Hanway had been able to probe the future, instead of setting
Mr. Sands to work that December afternoon, he would have paid his way to
London, had a trans-Atlantic trip been made the price of being rid of
him. But a Senator is not a soothsayer, and no impression of the kind
once touched him. He got Mr. Sands his billet, and said it gave him
pleasure to comply with the request of his young friend, Mr. Storms. To
Richard, the hereafter was as opaque as it was to Senator Hanway, and,