safe, pocketed the receipt for its deposit along with five crisp
American notes. There is nothing lacking in these modern hostelries,
excepting it be a church.

Our homeless young gentleman lighted a cigar and went out under the
portico. An early darkness had settled over the city, and a heavy
steady rain was falling. The asphalt pavements glistened and twinkled
as far as the eye's range could reach. A thousand lights gleamed down
on him, and he seemed to be standing in a canon dappled with
fireflies. Place of residence! Neither the fig-tree nor the vine! Did
he lose his money to-morrow, the source of his small income, he would
be without a roof over his head. True, his brother's roof would
always welcome him: but a roof-tree of his own! And he could lay
claim to no city, either, having had the good fortune to be born in a
healthy country town. Place of residence! Truly he had none; a
melancholy fact which he had not appreciated till now. And all this
had slipped his mind because of a pair of eyes as heavenly blue as a
rajah's sapphire!

Hang it, what should he do, now that he was no longer traveling, now
that his time was no longer Uncle Sam's? He had never till now known
idleness, and the thought of it did not run smoothly with the grain.
He was essentially a man of action. There might be some good sport
for a soldier in Venezuela, but that was far away and uncertain. It
was quite possible Jack, his brother, might find him a post as
military attache, perhaps in France, perhaps in Belgium, perhaps in
Vienna. That was the goal of more than one subaltern. The English
novelist is to be blamed for this ambition. But Warburton could speak
French with a certain fluency, and his German was good enough to
swear by; so it will be seen that he had some ground upon which to