as was befitting the season of youth--why not let his son taste of
the same agreeable fruit? He's wrong, sir--wrong! And I've said as
much to Ned. I only wish the boy had shown the right spunk this
evening, and told the old man to go home about his business."

"So do I," chimed in the young disciple in this bad school. "It's
what I'd say to my old man, in double quick time, if he was to
come hunting after me."

"He knows better than to do that," said the other, in a way that
let me deeper into the young man's character.

"Indeed he does. He's tried his hand on me once or twice during
the last year, but found it wouldn't do, no how; Tom Peters is out
of his leading-strings."

"And can drink his glass with any one, and not be a grain the
worse for it."

"Exactly, old boy!" said Peters, slapping his preceptor on the
knee. "Exactly! I'm not one of your weak-headed ones. Oh no!"

"Look here, Joe Morgan!"--the half-angry voice of Simon Slade now
rung through the bar-room,--"just take yourself off home!"

I had not observed the entrance of this person. He was standing at
the bar, with an emptied glass in his hand. A year had made no
improvement in his appearance. On the contrary, his clothes were
more worn and tattered; his countenance more sadly marred. What he
had said to irritate the landlord, I know not; but Slade's face