As Mr. Arnot swung open the door, a man, who seemingly had been leaning
against it, fell prone within the hall. Laura gave a slight scream, and
Mrs. Arnot was much alarmed, thinking that Haldane was suffering from
some sudden and alarming attack. Thoughts of at once telegraphing to his
mother were entering her mind, when the object of her solicitude tried
to rise, and mumbled in the thick utterance of intoxication:

"This isn't home. Take me to mother's."

Mrs. Arnot's eyes turned questioningly to her husband, and she saw that
his face was dark with anger and disgust.

"He is drunk," he said, turning to Pat, who stood in the door, cap in
hand.

"Faix, sur, it looks moighty loike it. But it's not for a dacent sober
man loike meself to spake sartainly o' sich matters."

"Few words and to the point, sir," said Mr. Arnot harshly; "your breath
tells where you have been. But where did you find this--and how came you
to find him?"

Either Mr. Arnot was at a loss for a term which would express his
estimation of the young man, who had slowly and unsteadily risen, and
was supporting himself by holding fast the hatrack, or he was restrained
in his utterance by the presence of his wife.

"Well, sur," said Pat, with as ingenuous and candid an air as if he were
telling the truth, "the wife o' a neighbor o' mine was taken on a
suddint, and I went for the docther, and as I was a comin' home, who