"Do? Well, to tell the truth, there is nothing _to_ do. I took him away
from Chicago, hoping to ease his trouble a little; but it has had no
effect."

"It will come out all right by-and-by," said Ferris, who noticed the
pained look on Brenton's face. "It is the period of probation that
he has to pass through. It will wear off. He merely goes through the
agonies he would have suffered on earth if he had suddenly been deprived
of his favourite intoxicant."

"Well," said Speed, "you won't come with me, then? All right, good-bye.
I hope to see you again, Mr. Brenton," and with that they separated.

Brenton spent two or three days in Venice, but all the time the old home
hunger was upon him. He yearned for news of Cincinnati. He wanted to be
back, and several times the wish brought him there, but he instantly
returned. At last he said to Ferris--

"I am tired. I must go home. I have _got_ to see how things are going."

"I wouldn't if I were you," replied Ferris.

"No, I know you wouldn't. Your temperament is indifferent. I would
rather be miserable with knowledge than happy in ignorance. Good-bye."

It was evening when he found himself in Cincinnati. The weather was
bright and clear, and apparently cold. Men's feet crisped on the frozen
pavement, and the streets had that welcome, familiar look which they
always have to the returned traveller when he reaches the city he calls
his home. The newsboys were rushing through the streets yelling their