"I can't tell as to that," said the landlord, shrugging his
shoulders. "But I don't see that Willy Hammond is in any especial
danger. He is a young man with many admirable qualities--is
social-liberal--generous almost to a fault--but has good common
sense, and wit enough, I take it, to keep out of harm's way."

A man passing the house at the moment, gave Simon Slade an
opportunity to break off a conversation that was not, I could see,
altogether agreeable. As he left me, I arose and stepped into the
bar-room. Frank, the landlord's son, was behind the bar. He had
grown considerably in the year--and from a rather delicate,
innocent-looking boy, to a stout, bold lad. His face was rounder,
and had a gross, sensual expression, that showed itself
particularly about the mouth. The man Green was standing beside
the bar talking to him, and I noticed that Frank laughed heartily,
at some low, half obscene remarks that he was making. In the midst
of these, Flora, the sister of Frank, a really beautiful girl,
came in to get something from the bar. Green spoke to her
familiarly, and Flora answered him with a perceptibly heightening
color.

I glanced toward Frank, half expecting to see an indignant flush
on his young face. But no--he looked on with a smile! "Ah!"
thought I, "have the boy's pure impulses so soon died out in this
fatal atmosphere? Can he bear to see those evil eyes--he knows
they are evil--rest upon the face of his sister? or to hear those
lips, only a moment since polluted with vile words, address her
with the familiarity of a friend?"